so, i had a cat.

last picture of ophelia thunderpaws

she was an awesome being. seriously, when i think about her personality, and the quirks she had, i smile. she was the only cat i ever met who would burp. and eat crackers. and fetch. and snore. losing her was tough. i had raised her from the tender age of six weeks. she would have been 11 this past june.

i got a tattoo for her.

paws and dirt marks. naturally

not that i need help remembering. but paw prints on my left shoulder (where she was laying where she died), inked three months after her death, seemed appropriate. they are also right in the path of my bra, which made things really uncomfortable for a few weeks.

anyway.

i had thoughts of getting another pet. i didn’t think i could get another cat. just petting neighborhood cats was enough to make me tear up. i really wanted a bunny. i looked into the rabbit rescue, and gave the whole thing serious thought.

then i found out someone who worked at my same hospital was giving up her dog. and was giving him back to the pound.

not a bunny, that’s for sure. but, how could you not love that face?

i took our resident dog, bentley, a few times to the dog park to meet this hansome man. his name is mario. his person was an absolute flake. we’d make plans for the dogs to hang out, to make sure they were okay with one another, and she’d forget. or show up a few hours late. seriously, i’d complain to anyone who would listen, about how this woman was wasting my time. there were a few episodes that made me want to stop thinking about this dog, and just get a bunny.

however.

mario came to live with me just before the fourth of july. he’s mellow. he’s goofy. he’s the alpha dog. he won my black little heart over.

dig that spotted tongue

he’s a bull mastiff mix. also, due to that tongue up there, i also believe him to be of chow descent. plus, he’s a fan of knitting. and oingo boingo.

happy dog

he doesn’t really bark, but he does a lot of grunting. he chases cats, but we’re working on that. he rolls his eyes, and is laying on my leg as i type. so far, he seems to like kung fu movies the best.

it's almost impossible to take a picture of one and not the other

and he’s pretty good with bentley’s spastic ways. he treats him the way an older brother would treat a younger, slightly disabled sibling. which is close enough to reality to make me giggle.

just waiting for the temperature to drop

he won’t allow bentley on the bed. when he sleeps, he snores. loung enough to be heard through the whole house. and with enough force to shake the bed. even when he’s laying on the floor. he gets the hiccups nearly every morning. i’ve successfully scared them out of him, which makes him wag his tail and grunt approvingly.

when he hears the alarm go off, he grunts and sticks him nose in my face. he head butts me until i get up.

he's as cuddly as he looks

he wags his tail in a circular manner.

i have no idea if ophelia would approve of him. she spent her life around various dogs, both canine and human. she dominated all of them. i think she would have dominated mario, but she would have napped with him after.

he’s no kitten, that’s for sure.

interrupting the nap is punishable by head-butting

but he’s the perfect act to follow her.

thanks for stopping by.

yeah. oh, and there will be a little bit of swearing today. just so you know.

so, it’s been kinda hot here in the northwest. z, mr sparkles and myself decided to visit a place called wild waves, located about two-and-a-half hours north of home base. to be more specific, i said, hey, let’s go to a winery. mr sparkles said, i kinda want to get wet. i said, what about that place off I-5 in washington? he looked it up online, and we bought tickets.

now, this is important. i asked mr sparkles, do they have their hours of operation on the site? just check to make sure they’re open and everything. he said, yeah yeah. of course they are.

that’s called foreshadowing.

anyway, we buy three tickets for saturday. we drive up to beautiful federal way, washington. which really is a beautiful area. we get there around three in the afternoon, because it’s freakin’ saturday and, as a group, we decided to sleep in. we manage to get off the freeway and find our way to the entrance. which is no small feat. because, even though you can see the park from the freeway, there are no signs. there’s no real easy way to get from point A to point B. we end up driving through a residential area, with z and mr sparkles in the front seat going, should we just pull over and knock on someone’s door? then there’s me in the back, with my knitting, saying, it’s gotta be a few more blocks that way, and pointing. i’m right, but still. there really should be signs.

so. we get there, we pull up to the parking kiosk. where we’re told the park is closed for a private function.

awesome!

basically, according to the parking dude (who is maybe 16, and acne is fighting world war III on the kid’s face. mean, yes, but i’m still a little bitter about all this), a church organization has rented the entire park for an event, and we have to have special tickets. meaning, we’d have to buy new tickets. we can still come in, but the tickets we’ve already bought are not valid for this special event. parking dude said the event is listed on the calendar on the website.

i reach over and hit mr sparkles. i told you to check, i said.

we’ve come all this way, so we park. we go up to the ticket booth. there’s a lady standing there with a bunch of tickets. she tells me she just has too many, and will gladly sell us three of them. we buy them and head in. our tickets bought online were $35 per. the tickets from the very nice lady – whom i referred to as “a scalper for christ” – were only $20 per. not as bad, but still. we’re still grumbling a little while we walk over to a roller coaster and get in line. we ride the roller coaster, and it’s awesome. as we’re getting off, we notice the ride is shutting down. mr sparkles goes over and asks one of the roller dudes why it’s closing. roller dude says, oh, all the rides are closing in 15 minutes for the bands.

i… we… wait, what? closing the park for jesus time? what?

yeah, he says. the church group brought all these christian bands, and they’re gonna play for the next four hours. so, they’re closing all the rides. he shrugs. the church paid a lot of money to do this, so that’s what they’re doing.

we drove nearly three hours and paid $55 to ride one roller coaster.

upset is too bland a word for how we felt. mr sparkles stalked off to find a smoking area, while z and i headed to guest services. i let her yell at some poor lady behind a desk while i sat outside watching people. the jesus people seemed to have no concept of personal space. they’d walk by, and step on my feet. it’s not like i have super long legs, or i was stretched out across the walkway. i’m pretty much short and visually unobtrusive. and yet… i was trampled.

also? i try really hard not to judge people’s bodies. we have too many body issue-related diseases and disorders in this culture of ours for me to be casually making fun of someone’s thighs, you know? however. i believe there should be some common sense. like, if you can’t see your toes, maybe you shouldn’t be wearing a string bikini.

i’m just saying, is all.

so, z vents her frustrations, and gets free passes for us to come again. no apology, no real refund. on the plus side, z’s buying our passes from us, and taking her kids on another weekend. they’ll totally enjoy it. and while i’d kind of like to go another time, i feel a little burned by the jesus people. and yeah, on the way back to the car, i said, dudes, jesus ruined our saturday.

and yet, that’s not the end of the story.

getting back on the freeway is even more complicated than getting off the freeway. we drive around looking for an onramp going north or south. there is nothing we can see. there are no signs to suggest there are ways of getting on the freeway. we’re driving around a little burg called milton. parallel to the freeway, but not on the freeway. adjacent to and in the vicinity of the freeway, but not actually bisecting the freeway. finally, there are signs when we drive further south and leave the town of milton altogether. we’re sitting at the light, talking about the amazing lack of onramps or even helpful arrows. from the backseat, i say, fuck milton in the ass.

we all laugh.

if i were inclined to find a silver lining in all this – and i sorta am – then i’d have to say that i got some great one liners out of the whole escapade. and i got some knitting done. as i’m sitting here, i’m fighting the urge to head over to zazzle and make shirts that say,’ jesus ruined my saturday’ (the graphic would have to be a little cartoon puppy with sad eyes), and ‘fuck milton in the ass’ (as long as i’m going to hell here, this one would have to have a giant fist on it. maybe a fist with a freeway sign).

and that’s how jesus ruined my saturday. thanks for stopping by.

so, i’ve been knitting and sweating. and crocheting little robots. oh, and having awful experiences which you’ll hear about in another day or two. right now, this is making me giggle.

this is totally something kitten would have done.

thanks for stopping by.

string cheese, in the individual packages? does not have an expiration date.

but, oh man… it totally expires. and it smells like bad garlic.

and the taste. it is, how you say? ew. ew squared.

but thanks for stopping by.

seriously.

i’m a fan of reading several books at once (and it’s hard work catching up with the interwebs AND reading AND knitting AND overdosing on entire seasons of television shows i can’t be bothered to watch in real time) (which is code for, i have spare time now, and i’m slowly returning to a decent schedule and social life), and it appears several authors can’t use a dictionary. or their common sense gland.

the word, people, is decimated. as in, decimation. now, think about that for a moment. deci- prefix meaning ten. as in, reduce by ten percent. proper usage- “dude, working out daily has decimated my ass.” so, why would you use ‘decimation’ to suggest total destruction? how about ‘obliterated’ or ‘destroyed’ or ‘leveled’?

how about ‘completely buggered’? these are all good choices.

just sayin’, is all.

thanks for peeping in.

hi.

i mean to post, honestly. i have odd and crazy stories to share with y’all, which is the reason i have my three loyal readers to begin with. but the stars have aligned against me for the time being. my schedule changes pretty much daily, so even wheni think i’m gonna have time to sit down at a compy and whip out a post, my boss decides i need to stay an extra couple hours.

cliff notes update -

we have a dog now, and he enjoys yarn. it’s chewy.

i have been adopted by a stray cat. he’s pretty funny when given catnip.

while i’m technically part-time at my bloodletting gig, i hope to be moved up to full-time shortly. i hate to talk about it, just in case it all goes to hell in a handbasket, but the set schedule means more free time. to, you know, knit. oh, and drink and post. sometimes all at once.

someone has taught my cat how to burp. ew.

i’m going to disneyland on halloween! or very close to it. actually, i’m going to a memorial concert for the birdman, and as long as i’m in southern california, i hope to talk moi into going to disnelyland. which means… we’re totally going.

finally, i have been thinking about this video for the last few days. it cracks me the hell up.

thanks for stopping by. and thanks for sticking around.

so, i’ve taken up yoga.

for a lot of reasons, but mainly because my job is starting to stress me out. i mean, doctors can reattach a human hand, and swap out hearts like they were transmissions, but they sure as hell can’t use a computer. or spell, for that matter – but that’s a gripe for another time. anyway, simply put, doctors order lab tests on the compy, then i go draw them on my next round. but it’s never that simple in real life. they misspell names, they order the labs for the wrong patient, blah blah blah.

so, yoga. on wednesdays.

and, i have to tell you. i consider myself to be in pretty okay shape. i’m no soccer player, sure, but i can take the stairs without winding myself. and, after standing bent over my left leg, with my right leg up behind me, sole pointed toward the ceiling… i have bits that hurt in places i didn’t know bits could hurt.

oh, and seeing your own ass upside down in the mirror behind you? liable to put you off eating anything but lettuce for the next ten years. holy crap.

thanks for stopping by.

so, in december of 1999, i lived in seattle, washington. and my parents lived in salinas, california. because of that math, i ended up flying down for christmas. at that point, i had never missed a christmas with my folks. and it’s not like i’m a nut for christmas. i’m not exactly christian, so i feel like a bit of a hack celebrating a religious holiday just because it’s what the advertising and retail industry expects of me. anyway, i’m not really interested in christmas. my mom, however, lives for the holiday. the weekend after thanksgiving, she digs out her christmas carols and spends an entire day spreading the holiday cheer about the house. she had a particularly hateful tape of carols as sung by elvis presley, and while i don’t really mind elvis i loathed that entire recording.

anyway.

my mom doesn’t get all crazy about holidays in general. she sometimes remember birthdays, and i get a little worried when she doesn’t call within a day or two of my own birthday. secretly, between you and me? i love that she sings ‘happy birthday’ to my voicemail. and yeah, it’s rather bad and off-key. and i play it for anyone who will listen. but in general, she lets other holidays slide right on by. thanksgiving, she has her turkey (and the spare in the freezer, which amuses me to no end) (my mom, she loves the turkey. we might be burying her with one), and during dinner she talks about all the things she has to do for getting her christmas swag up. my dad usually retreats to another room, to read or catch up on paperwork. and when i lived at home, i tried to find something else to do, somewhere else. largely because of that elvis tape. so, i flew down to visit the peeps.

i don’t remember a whole lot about that particular christmas. it was just me and my parents and the dog. i had just gotten official word that the cancer was gone, and i remember telling everyone asking what i wanted for christmas that that right there was gift enough. i bought my parents books, because we’re all big ole nerds. and the one present i really remember is one from ’santa’. which my whole extended family knows is my mom, but we never say this out loud. because, she says, if you don’t believe you don’t receive. and the woman loves to shop for gifts, as do i.

for christmas 2001, for example, she got me this talking eeyore doll. clearly, this thing was meant for very young children. the deal was, you were supposed to press eeyore’s paw, and he would lift his head and say something. you were to ask him a yes-or-no question, and press his paw again. he would then answer, and drop his head. i was so charmed by the talking donkey that i took him to work with me. he was like the magic 8 ball, but for the grade school set. we passed him around the office for hours, asking him weird questions and laughing at his canned responses. one of my co-workers even called my mom to thank her for the great present. but she just said, i didn’t get that for her. ’santa’ got it for her.

the talking eeyore doll is in a box in my garage at the moment. i got a wild hair the other weekend, and decided to go through all my boxes and get rid of things i really didn’t need. so far, i’ve managed to give four boxes of stuff to the goodwill. but it was during this cleaning that i found him.

it’s a weenie baby. like a beanie baby, but better endowed. i’m not kidding you, this was wrapped and under the tree with a tag that said ‘from santa’. i think i stared at it for a full minute, while my mom started laughing. my dad asked me what it was, and i pointed it at him. he rolled his eyes and excused himself to the kitchen, which is the appropriate british response to your daughter holding a fluffy pink phallus. i asked my mom where she got the bunny, when she reminded me santa had bought it for me.

santa’s a freak, i said, which made my mom laugh even harder. tears were streaming down her face. look at this thing, i said, pointing the penis at her. it takes up his entire torso. could you imagine how heavy that would be? and his balls are huge. and… is that pubic hair?

she just couldn’t stop laughing. i tried to imagine a santa character walking into one of the adult stores in nearby santa cruz, where i just knew she had bought this crazy thing. but the best i could do was imagine my mom wandering around the sex shop, with her santa elf hat on, and seeing this bunny. and laughing herself silly.

it was a funny gift, even though i didn’t laugh nearly as hard as she did. when i was packing to leave a few days later, i stuck the bunny in my suitcase. my mom later admitted she took it out of my suitcase, and stuck it in my carry-on.

she drove me to the airport, and since this was before the trade center exploded, she waited with me in line. now, i almost always end up being the person that security decides to randomly search. not so much since now we all have to take off our shoes and belts just to get to the gates, but back when you were allowed to stay dressed i must have looked threatening. which i don’t get. maybe it’s my complete lack of eye contact with security officials, whatever. so, the big security guard has us step to the side so he can peek inside my backpack. i have to explain the two big prescription bottles, but he checks them against my driver’s license anyway. my mom tugs at my arm and starts to talk, but i sort of wave her away. the security guard removes the weenie baby. holds it up so several people can stare, and he asks me, what is this supposed to be?

it’s a bunny with a cock, sir, i say. santa brought it for me. you know, for christmas.

he looks at me, then at my mom. i glance and my mom, and i see she’s biting her lip, and trying not to laugh. people around us are starting to snicker. the security guard drops the bunny.

santa’s a damn freak, he says.

thanks for stopping by.

so, yeah. i’ve had plenty of time to get some blogging happening, and i’ve started a fair few posts in my head. but, what it comes down to, people? i’ve been a lazy sack of protoplasm, and i’ve been enjoying it. i’m not the type of person that slacks off, in general. i like getting things done, and ticking them off a list. however, i also like napping and staring out the window, it appears. so, i make my half-hearted promise to get my tushie over to the compy a little more often.

and, by the way? naps are awesome.

oh! i’ve been savoring the new david sedaris book, when you are engulfed in flames. i’m a huge fan of his – and, by the way, if you’ve never read holidays on ice, then your life is a sad little shell, i tell you what – and this book does not disappoint. i’ve read reviews where people say, oh, it’s not as good as his other books, blah blah blah. pay no attention to them. it’s good stuff, and i’ve been limiting myself to one or two essays a day, so the book will last longer.

and i’m kind of excited to read assisted loving, largely because i heard the author on NPR, and he was quite engaging. i’m getting it from the library, unless i manage to tear through all the books at my house in the next week or so (which, i’m telling you, simply is not feasible). it just sounds cute and sweet, and something of a labor of love.

hm. i’m still frustrated over the indiana jones movie. look away if you don’t want it spoiled for you. dude, harrison? i’m pretty sure those are the exact same pants from the first three movies. you’re a professor and badass; surely you can pack a second pair of trousers. and… come on, now. aliens? flipping aliens? did someone confuse indiana with han solo? oh, and you’re a grown-ass man, now. button your shirt up a little, hm? not that i’m complaining, because you’ve taken great care of yourself. but, well… the general rule of thumb should be, when you get your AARP card, you have to show less chest.

… and, this has nothing to do with anything, and may possibly give you more information about me than you really need. i was in the gym the other day, and i became aware of how old my bra was, and i made a mental note to go buy a few new boob holders. for reference, i wear a 36C (see? i told you there would be more than you really needed to know about me. but it is relevant, i swear). and when did it become so goddamn hard to get a bra in my, er, ample size that did not have padding? i mean, seriously. and i’m not talking about the molded cups that are great with t-shirts and all. that’s not padding, so much as modesty protection. i’m talking about the bras that make what you’ve got look even bigger. which is retarded when it comes to the bigger sizes. thong bikinis shouldn’t be made in plus sizes, and any bra over a B cup does not need extra padding. i come with my own chest amplification, thanks.

jesus. so annoyed by undergarments.

oh, and i believe i’ve cemented my awkwardness in the minds of my co-workers. see, the other morning, i was supposed to go to this hour-long certification thingy. and about ten minutes before the thingy started, i got a nosebleed. i don’t mean a little trickle, like when you get when you’ve blown your nose too hard. i’m talking a gushing torrent that lasted a little too long for comfort. i’m standing there, talking to this guy i work with, and i think my nose is running. i grab a tissue, and i discover i have a little red river action happening above my lip. i dash over to the employee restroom area, where i fill up three or four tissues while trying to stop the flow. by the way, the best way to stop a nosebleed is not to pinch your nose closed, or lean your head back. you can actually cause yourself to choke on your own blood doing that. what works 99.9% of the time is firm pressure on the bridge of your nose, kind of parallel with your tear ducts, for around a minute. i stood there, pinching the bridge of my nose with a tissue to catch the blood torrent. and while it slowed, it did not stop. my other co-worker, and hopefully a soon-to-be good friend, grabbed a bunch of tissues, told me to ‘be a man about it’, and led me by the elbow to our meeting thingy. where we promptly ran into the not-drunk veteran, and where my nose re-began it’s crazy expulsion. there’s nothing less sexy than trying to make a good impression while blood is coursing down your face. well… okay, there is. but at that moment, i couldn’t think of anything less attractive. also, i had to sit through a meeting – with a bunch of my new superiors who hadn’t met me before then – with a fistful of red tissue clamped to my face.

good impressions. i can make thems. and, ew. and, sorry if you have a sensitive stomach.

and… i’ve finished a mitten! you know, just in time for summer. which… yeah. the other night, the weatherman was talking about the freakin’ snow level. snow. in june. i blame everyone that drives a hummer.

and… i require a coffee refill. because i’m not caffeinated enough.

thanks for stopping by.

i keep waiting for spring to show up, and so far it has yet to get past winter here. i’ve put air in my bike tires, i’ve put away my scarves. and still, it’s really cold and rainy here.

meh. anyway.

so, may hasn’t been a total loss. i’ve finished a bunch of projects, and i haven’t killed any plants yet. i have, however, nearly drowned my lovely roses. and completely drowned my seeds. see, i saved the seeds from a tangerine earlier this month, and i got a wild hair to try getting something to grow from them. as of today, all i’ve managed to grow is copious amounts of mud.

but my roses!

they’re fraternizing with the gnomes.

hm. i may need more gnomes.

oh, and i’ve seen a million movies in the last week. saturday night, though, my evil twin and i saw the new indiana jones movie. which, we decided, was not exactly worth the 3-4 gallons of gas our tickets cost. i won’t deliver any spoilers, but… well, i did want to hide my hands in my face a few times. yes, harrison kicks ass. yes, there is a totally goofy fight/chase scene that smacks of return of the jedi. yes, there are snakes and explosions. and yet… meh. with a side order of feh.

i did, however, have an odd response to the first narnia movie, which i finally saw on tuesday. i actually couldn’t give a damn about the story itself,  but… well. there was a beaver in chain mail during the big war sequence. i can’t even begin to tell you how funny a beaver in chain mail is to me. sadly, no pictures to support my claim.

anyway, this was just a quick drop-in to say howdy. my knickers are in a total twist about the weather, and i have decided to take a cruise next year. which means, i should probably get on planning that.

oh, and i recently drew blood from a baby’s head.

thanks for stopping by.