Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Girl Giant

You must see this.


Girl Giant.

Monday, August 28, 2006

Mr. Wuv Cat

Welcome to the family, little Siamese(ish) dude.

J's sister Amy (small town vet and Patron Saint of Downtrodden Pets), sensing a weakness in the Force, just "happened" to have a sad, adorable kitten in need of a home. Okay, she's pretty much always got some sad-sack, down-on-its-luck cast-off stray of some kind, so it was pretty much a sure bet that telling her we were down one cat would result in another one joining the fold. Last time this happened we got Banshee, also a Siamese mix, who was so painfully stupid that we had to find her a new, less complicated home to live on so she wouldn't keep peeing on our stuff. Before that it was Bosco, a fine and doltish huge, greasy hundred-pound Doberman with impossibly long legs who would eat blackberries off the vine and cherries right off the tree in our back yard. And who could fart like a rhinoceros. Yet we loved him. From a distance and with many lit candles.

Anyway, now we have Ringo. He was brought in to the vet clinic a pathetically thin (less than one pound) and largely bald kitten, suffering from ear mites, worms, malnutrition, neglect, etc. Oh, and a truly impressive case of ringworm. Hence the baldness, and the name. He has since packed on the ounces and grown the hair back, though it's still a bit thin on his tail which was practically hairless to start with. He is Siamese-oid, a creamy white with gray ears and tail and a gray diamond over his nose. His fur is slightly longish but not like a Persian or anything. When I get a chance I'll get a photo on here.

And he is Mr. Wuv Cat. He wuvs us. He wuvs the baby. He wuvs the dogs and he'd wuv Wilbur (the matriarch, an aging and cranky black cat named when She was thought to be a He) if only she'd let him, but she never, ever will. He lays on your chest and purrs, and when he's really comfy he'll lick your chin so hard it hurts. He has known adversity, and he much prefers prosperity. Don't we all.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Hard Times

Today I got the call that my cat, Slick (the left hand cat in this picture), missing since Saturday night, had been found in the neighbor's backyard Sunday morning, dead, half buried in the garden by some animal (?). I had posted some signs on the mailboxes around the neighborhood just last night and was going to visit the Humane Society today. Now I guess I don't need to.

He was a good cat, a lovely cat, a sweet cat. A total pest to our other cat, a willing cuddle toy to Delia, an utter gomer with no sense of balance. He was a good, good kitty, and he didn't deserve a violent end.

I still can't really believe he's gone, I guess because he just vanished into the night and I never got to see him to say goodbye. By the time I gave up waiting for him to turn up and went out and put up the signs, the neighbor had long since disposed of the remains.

O Slicky, we hardly knew ye. Rest in peace with your old friend Beany. Tell Grandma we miss her. I will miss you sleeping on the back of the couch with your tail wrapped around my neck, and Delia will miss wrestling with you. I'm afraid Wilbur won't miss you at all but she's pretty malevolent and her opinions don't count here.

Forwards, O How I Hate Them

Okay, not all of them. Some are cute, harmless, amusing, etc. But sadly, my Dad likes to send me whole batches of them every so often, and while some of them are kind of funny and I don't mind those, it's the ones like this that I wish he'd quit sending. In particular it was this section that made me almost, but not quite, send Dad a tart little response asking him not to send me stuff like this anymore:

"Whether you like it or whether you don’t God was a part of building this great nation. To remove him is to take away the very foundation of what this country was all about.

I don’t care about your political correctness!

I don’t want to know your sexual preference!

I could care less about all of that. Stop making it the headline of the day!

That’s not America."

I didn't send him the tart little email, but only because I have to ask him not to come install some damn pyramid-scheme air filter system in my house, "just so you can write me a letter of testimony, you don't have to buy it." If I reject both his air filter and his emails, he'll get all sensitive and think I don't want to see him anymore. That's what he did when we requested he and his wife, whom I do not like but to whom I am perfectly civil, find somewhere else to stay the night we brought our daughter home from the hospital when she was born. We just felt that we would like to spend our first night home together as a family without visitors, plus we were totally overwhelmed and didn't need to have to take care of anyone but ourselves and our tiny new person. Naturally he interpreted this as, "You're mad at me for not being able to come see you the night the baby was born because I had a doctor's appointment that was evidently more important, even though I said I'd drop everything and rush to your bedside the minute you called," and attended a motorcycle rally the first weekend of her life after stopping by to visit for a whole twenty minutes because, "We paid for this rally a month ago and it wasn't cheap!"

Um, no, I don't have any childhood baggage about my Dad, why do you ask?

Okay, so first of all what bothers me about this kind of thing is the whole "this is a Christian nation," thing that I've come across here and there, generally in connection somehow with my Dad. I once attended a service at his church that happened to be right around July 4th, 2002, so it was the first Independence Day after 9/11 and also right around the time that they were arguing that whole Pledge of Allegiance thing about whether to include "under God" or not. You can imagine how they took that ball and ran with it, and so I was forced to listen to how this was a Christian nation founded by Christian men on Christian ideals blah blah blah and that taking God out of government and prayer out of the schools was directly responsible for Satanism, teen pregnancy, drug use -- oh, and homosexuality.

I was utterly mortified since, as some of you know, I am a drug-using, teenly-pregnant, devil-worshiping fag. Okay, not really, but I am a lesbian who has never really used drugs, didn't get pregnant as a teen or any other time until I had pay two grand for the privilege, and so far as I know have not practiced Satanism, unless it was inadvertant and then I suppose I could blame it on an allergic reaction to painkillers like all the celebrities do...

And, um, didn't the framers of the Constitution deliberately separate church and state so that people who didn't want someone else's belief system shoved down their throats by the government could live in peace? Wasn't that part of why they came here and stole this continent from the people who already lived here? I mean, I know it's a little late for us to pack up and leave it to the Native Americans, but can't we at least maintain the semblance of giving a shit about freedom from religious persecution? And hey, news flash: that includes Christianity!

I would also like to state specifically that my Christianity bears very, very little resemblance to whatever brand of "Christianity" that these people profess to practice.

And secondly, who's making an issue out of who else's sexual orientation? Not preference, you hate-peddling moron. Orientation. It's funny how if you're in the minority and you bring up a point you have an agenda, whereas if you're on the other side of the issue, you're just "morally right." Funny how that works. Really. Funny.

Okay, enough soap-boxing. I just woke up itching for a fight, evidently. Carry on.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

One Down

One class completely finished, one to go. My mother (a finer woman never walked this earth) has offered to take young Princess Delia off my hands for an entire day, and even -- gasp! -- for the night on Saturday, leaving me to study my brains out without interruption. I plan to have the event catered... Although, we're not sure if we can bear to part with her for the night too. Plus she might yell a lot and you know, the 'rents aren't getting any younger, they need their beauty sleep. But, I think I'll send along the necessary accoutrement and see how it goes.

Then after a three week break or so, it's on to the next term! Anatomy and physiology, featuring real cadavers... or parts thereof. I'm not sure how I feel about this yet but seeing that I have little choice (i.e. none whatsoever) I guess I'll just figure it out as I go along. As I understand it, we don't dissect anything human, we just observe. Yeek. Still tough.

Watched "RV" tonight, with Robin Williams (I mean he was in it, he didn't stop by to watch it with us or anything). Although it was pure Hollywood hokum, it was fun and had us howling with laughter at times. Our threshhold is pretty low, given, but still. Good times.

Well, all this blogging is cutting into my WoW time in a big way. :)

Kute Kid Kwote of the Day (tm): Delia was goofing around and sort of hopping rearward and very excitedly paused to announce, "Look! Guys! I'm backing wards! I'm backing wards!"

Lately she's been saying, "I have to go!" But we're not sure where she thinks she has to go. Also, "My teeth is getting bigger and bigger." And, "I promise!"

She couldn't get any cuter. I hope we can all deal with it when the cuteness fades into surliness in the teen years. I miss her already...

Sunday, August 06, 2006

Little Bender

Threw a little shower for my fine and decent friends Karen and John. Knowing them as I do, I figured that the usual hateful shower games would be especially loathed by one and all, so we had an impromptu Interpretive Lego Sculpture Juried Exhibition, with first and second place decided by popular vote. The topic was, "What do you think Karen and John's baby will look like." If the winning entrants are at all suggestive of the actual outcome, the baby will either need a good plastic surgeon or an exorcism. Ha ha! Just kidding, Karen and John. We all know your baby will exit the womb not only super cute, but quoting Monty Python lines and playing a musical instrument, and doing both better than I can at the age of 38.

The plan is to name the baby after Bender Bending Rodriguez, unless of course they want to dash an old woman's hopes and settle for something boring like Zorak or Postlethwaite or something average like that.

Step 1: cast ye your Legos as ye may, on the floor for everyone to fondle. Note the rather robustly pregnant Karen, center stage.

Step 2: assemble your masterpiece from the Limited Edition Floor Sweepings Collection (featuring obscure shapes and colors, and four frozen Han Solo slab pieces leftover from the Star Wars kits)

Step 3: photograph finished works in front of cake for posterity

Step 4: distribute prizes
Step 5: allow your two-year-old to disassemble said works while you are distracted on phone

.... Okay, that last step is probably optional, but at least it was after the guests had all gone home.

A good time was had by all, and with a minimum of wrapping of toilet paper around any part of anyone else's anatomy (to my knowledge).


Our hall bathroom has a vent under the vanity that blows outward (not upward). When we run the a/c, the cold air blows straight onto the base of the toilet. As a result, trips to the restroom are extra refreshing on those hot summer days...

Saturday, August 05, 2006


OMFG World of Warcraft is huge. I may never surface...

Thursday, August 03, 2006

I Feel the Earth... Move... Under my bed...

Woke up at 1:38am this morning with the bed shaking madly. Thought it was a dream, nobody else woke up -- checked the TV, nothing in the news, back to sleep. Then my Mom asked me on the phone later: So did you feel the earthquake last night?

My second one, the first was in San Diego when I was 15 or so, same general scenario. I was the only one who woke up that time too. Evidently I am a light sleeper. When we had the infamous Spring Break Quake I was out of town; if memory serves, I was in Los Angeles, the earthquake capitol of the world...

Got a quiz back today, 24 out of 25. Not too damn bad!

Today I went to gas up the car and as we pulled away from the station, Delia leaned forward in her seat, craned her little neck, and waved to the nice gas station saying, "Thanks for the gasolines!"

She is an utter delight.

She had to spend the evening with Pastor Dave since I needed child care in a hurry in order to get to school, and she very obligingly ate a huge dinner, played long and hard, and settled right into bed without any fuss at all. She's either suffering from an attachment disorder or just very, very secure. It almost pains me a little how much she doesn't seem to get bent out of shape when I have to leave her with people, but then she did have a hard time staying at the gym the first few times, until it became familiar to her. Thus far she's only spent 1:1 time with people she is pretty well acquainted with, from church mostly or relatives. So I should be pretty happy that she's okay with me being away, that she knows I'll come back.

Must run, much to do...