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equals equal parts loud hilarity, cat panic, and utter clutter disaster on the stair landing.Plus a kitty hiding underneath our bed for about an hour (which, for her, is like 7 3/4 months in purgatory.)Momma ? I know you know what this looks/sounds like.=================================================Anyhow, I keep all the kitty toys in a big paper shopping bag in the corner in our bedroom. They have been there for months because it's easy to grab something out of there, play with the kitties, and then just toss it back in the sack when they get tired. A couple of nights ago, Kismet apparently got a little curious about the toy smells in that lovely bag. (She loves bags of any kind, paper, plastic, suitcases, whatever, so this wasn't really a concern. Evidence below. =D) She nosed around and made the bag crackle but, again, this is pretty normal behavior.
What ended up being our first indication that something might be wrong was a small, sleek, black LIGHTNING BOLT -- fleeing for her life out of our bedroom, dragging the sack WITH HER. She had gotten her head stuck inside one of the handles and was skedaddling as fast as her four little paws would go. All we heard was the sack rustling behind her and the thumpity-thump of terrified feline. And then -- we heard the crashing. Up and down the stairs. Smashity-whack, thumpity-run.Before I could stop and figure out what just happened, she reappeared in the bedroom, again at a dead run. Again, with the sack still ON HER. CHASING HER ! Eeeee.She came to rest, hiding underneath our bed, having ripped the handle OUT OF THE BAG. Bag was underneath the bed with her, but she was SAFE. Phew !It took us another ten minutes to quit laughing DIRECTLY at her, even after we made sure that she was okay (no bones broken, no blood, everything intact except her kitty pride.)Poor baby. *snort*I felt terrible for her -- at least until I saw EVERY TOY THEY OWN scattered to hell and gone all over the landing AND STAIRS. Yeah, that took a while to clean up.Thoughts ?
Muzzie-loo.You've been gone for a while, but you still inspire me. Your words still govern a lot of what I do on a daily basis and I just want people to know that, when I say something sensible, there's a 95% chance it was something that you said to me first.Thank you so much for your wisdom, your humor, and your patience. I miss you.
Only because they could not call it Bottle FAB-U-LOUS !Robert and I went with a friend of ours last night to see Bottle Shock. It is the true story of the birth of worldwide acceptance of California (Napa Valley) wines.Neither Robert nor I is an oenophile (sp?), but we both thoroughly enjoyed the movie. It is also one of the few where Bill Pullman "disappears" as an actor within the character that he is playing. There's a mixed bunch as far as the majority of other actors goes, although I think Alan Rickman may have found another role that will be memorable (along, of course, with Snape & Hans Gruber from Die Hard.) His facial expressiveness is remarkable. Dennis Farina is also dryly funny in his secondary role. (Oh. Nearly forgot. Take Kleenex. No, really.)Anyhow, this is our second "artsy" movie in about three weeks. I also have to recommend Man on Wire, which is a documentary of a tightrope walker who . . . well, let's just say he pulled off a certain feat that will never be duplicated (for more than one reason).I won't mention Tropic Thunder here except to say -- yes, Kate. We saw it and it was pretty funny. I do have to say, however, that I nearly had to go and get the manager because of the "trailers".Bring on Oscar season and all the GOOD movies ! Yay !Thoughts ?
1) Clay Aiken outs himself.2) I faint and fall over from shock. --
*** Edited to show sarcasm ***Thoughts ?
Yes, I just saw a rerun of Reba "Parenting with Puppets".The sign is not that I agree with the puppet idea -- it is that a television show on mainstream media actually showed parenting that I understand.Short synopsis: bratty kid breaks a lamp with a bat. Touchy-feely daughter-in-law mom gently explains that "next time" he will not get a sticker for good behavior. Reba explains her parenting style, which actually reminds me a great deal of my parents' style. Vealmoor, represent ! It involves actually disciplining the child and explaining the consequences of one's actions. *shrug* I dunno any more. . .Thoughts ?
Yes. It's EXACTLY what it sounds like.Guess what ? I know now where my septic tank lid is in relation to my front door. I also know exactly how far down to dig to find it.What I did NOT know before last night is this: if enough lint goes through the washer at one time, it's possible for it to get stuck between the end of the pipe and the edge of the concrete septic tank. It is also possible at that point for it to prevent . . . anything. . . from flowing down the pipe. It is also possible at that point for NOTHING to flow OUT of the house pipes. And then, when one's DH decides to take a shower. . . well, that water has to go somewhere. Ours chose to go straight up and over. This causes the wife in the house to scream upstairs "WATER OFF ! NOW !" and the husband to run downstairs in a towel. Poor man -- I did a lot of yelling in the next 10 minutes. It is mostly a blur, but I do remember barking orders like a drill sergeant for "more towels", "another damn bucket", "get out of the way", and "FLOWERPOT". There was also something about requiring poor DH to snatch some clothes on. To spare my dear readers the details, let me just say that I have had a lot of towels to do on the "sanitary" cycle, which involves the hottest water known to man. I also have to figure out how to bleach my wood bathroom floor without ruining the finish. *sigh*Oh, and if you are in the Pacific Northwest near us, please let me assure you that FloHawks (and Northwest Cascade in particular) were FABULOUS to deal with. The gentleman that they sent by our house was fast, knowledgeable, and thoroughly professional. The fact that this little process began at 8:30pm on Labor Day and did not finish up until about 11:15 last night is a minor blip on the radar, really. I have now let the Universe know that I am all set on blog posts for a while, thanks. (And, yes -- the car is allegedly alllll fixed now. That was the other little detail hanging fire from a few days ago.)Thoughts ?
without humor, it seems.So, we're out and about this afternoon, doing some weekly errands -- grocery shopping, hardware store, bookstore, you know -- "normal" things.It's raining a little up here today (which is to be expected) - a soft, misty Pacific Northwest rain.What do these two facts have to do with the good deed, you ask ? Well, therein lies the story. . .My husband has a very soft heart at times and today was one of those times. We were headed back to our house when we happened to spot a gentleman walking along the side of the road, in the rain. After a quick discussion of "should we pick him up ?", we ended up with this. . . nice. . . gentleman in our car and us having volunteered to take him to a friend's house. BUT.Here's the rest of the story: When he got in the back seat, we both immediately realized that he is thoroughly three sheets to the wind. Toasted to the nines. Wow. He tells us his name immediately and he seems to be a pleasant drunk, but a definite drunk, nonetheless. He blathers constantly, EXCEPT to give us the information that we have to have in order to get him to a safe place. He tells us that his wife tossed him out of the house/car this morning, that he did a little drinking at one of the watering holes close to our house this afternoon (Momma -- you KNOW which one that is, btw. It's the one where we saw the OTHER freak show kerfuffle last year.), that he "took a bottle of whiskey into the library (!), dropped it on the floor accidentally (!!), and RAN (emphasis mine, but still . . . R.A.N. ! )", and that we were his "getaway car". Lord. How do we manage to get in these messes ?Anyhow, we kept asking questions, mostly related to "where do you live ?", "where is your friend's house ?", etc. He continued to mention that his friend lives "by a school". Well, normally, this wouldn't be nearly this difficult, but we live very close to a bare minimum of three schools. While we are asking these questions, he is TOUCHING everything that we have in the back seat, including my husband's backpack, and asking us what kind of pizza we are taking home. Weeeeird.To make a long story short, we dropped him off at his friend's house. We have NO idea if his friend knew that he was coming over or if we got him to the right house AT ALL, but we pulled up, he departed the car, no one shot at us, and we got the h-e-double-hockey-sticks outta Dodge.Thoughts ?
