Lick It Real Good

Tonight's Feature Presentation is Kitty Purry Takes A Bath.

An aggressive stretch of the tongue, a little eyes-rolled-back for effect, and it's time to get to work. The first lick sets the stage, working over the cat torso.

After the initial attack, she moves in a little more softly, with a side-angle twist of the tongue. She's still working it over in pretty quick bursts, as evidenced by the blur of the ear:

A few more licks to smooth any feathers that may be ruffled:

And a big finale finish on the paw.

I apologize. This isn't the best use of your time. However, it couldn't have cost you more than 28 seconds, so it's not a huge loss.

Size DOES Matter.

I never before realized the importance of reading about vacuum cleaner cord length when making a purchase until I bought a vacuum cleaner with a cord that stops short.

Bissell, no less. Shame on you, Brand Name.

I didn't know that was something I had to read and process on the box before making my selection, but apparently it is something to note.

Now, a little bit of history about the vacuum cleaners that have come and gone in this house. They tend to commit suicide when they live here. They just don't last long. So we have gone through a lot of them.

Kenny actually killed a Dyson before I moved in, and when it stopped working he just set it out on the treelawn, without trying to resurrect it. A DYSON, Reader. He didn't understand the value of the Dyson, he didn't know it was the Mac-Daddy of the Vacuum Cleaner World and perhaps worth a second chance at life.

I own(ed) a very good vacuum, a Simplicity, that I paid over $600 for back in the day, and that was after my ex-husband did a lot of extensive vacuum-cleaner-purchasing research to narrow it down to the Simplicity. He may have poor moral integrity, but he was an excellent product researcher. Me? I'm much more impulsive and will just buy whatever strikes my fancy. Mr. M recently noted about me, "You've always lacked impulse control." That's a fair statement.

But anyway, back to the exciting world of my vacuum cleaner. I lost my Simplicity when I stored it in my brothers attic area, and since then he has gone bat-shit crazy and I have no hope of reclaiming any of the items I had there.

I learned a few good lessons when I got divorced about storing things at other people's houses: No matter how much people may insist it's no problem at the time, things happen and it just never simply works out well. Eventually it's a problem, and like now, I ended up losing my belongings. But prior to my brother going bat-shit, I had lost a lot of my items because I'm fairly certain my (ex) sister-in-law took some of my things and sold them (Coach purse collection), because one time when I was there looking for something, I noticed that not all my things were there.

Like I said, Lessons Learned.

Apparently I didn't need all the stuff I had shoved in his attic or I would have brought it all with me. Right? In my mind I've just pretended it all went up in a house fire, because basically it's the same thing.

And that, Reader, is just a little snippet into my exciting family life that I rarely mention. Because they are ka-razy. Now I seem more sane, don't I??

If I'm a little impulsive, so what? It's all relative (get it, Murd? that one's for you!).

But anyway, once AGAIN back to the exciting world of vacuum cleaners.

When I moved into my charming home with Kenny, he didn't even own a vacuum, he borrowed from downstairs. Which is ridiculous. But he felt he'd killed enough of them, and would just borrow one as needed. That statement also provides a glimpse into his housekeeping skills when I moved in, too. Because it really has to be some hot-mess to warrant a trip up and down stairs to borrow a vacuum, and not so much an everyday use kind of thing. But I'm not here to judge (hahaha, of course I am, I judge everything, Reader!).

I figured Kenny just didn't know how to properly operate a vacuum and we went out and bought an average-priced cleaner. In the $200 range. Not top-of-the-line, just your basic-business cleaner. Eureka or Hoover or something. At that time I could have gone and picked up my Simplicity, but I was a little hesitant to do so after hearing this house killed a Dyson. I figured I'd keep it over there for safekeeping. That was a bad decision, in retrospect, as it may still work, but not for me.

It didn't take long for the new vacuum to blow up.

So we bought another one.

And it, too, blew up.

I began to realize that Kenny wasn't exaggerating: This house DOES kill vacuums.

But with a couple of kittens (see how I downplayed the number here?) romping around the house, and the litter pan kicking up dust in a back room instead of a basement, it's necessary to own a vacuum.

After several more purchases, I finally said, "Fuck it!" and bought the cheapest-of-the -cheap at The Wal*Mart. Forty bucks. Limited filters.

And realized that maybe those fancy vacuums with all those filters can't handle the dust/cat-hair this house generates and they clog up and die. Because that $40 vacuum? Lasted about 3 years.

It recently died this past December. So we hightailed it back to The Wal*Mart and bought another $40 Bissell vacuum cleaner. I had looked at the slightly upgraded model, it was about $70, but then reminded myself that the cheapest thing out there lasted longer than any others, why fuck with a winner.

The first time I went to vacuum the house I realized they took a shortcut with this model. And lopped off at least 2 feet of cord. Because this vacuum? I can't even vacuum the length of the living room without plugging it into 2 different outlets. And I live in a smallish 2-bedroom (I've been told that this place is actually 1100 square feet, which really isn't that small for a 2-bedroom). But it's small enough that I should be able to vacuum the entire living room from one outlet location, right?

I'm disgruntled.

Oh, to be fair it is a different model than the one that recently broke - we opted for the bagless version this time. I didn't realize then that I needed to note the cord length. Now I know.

So really, Bissell taught me a little math lesson. I guess I should be thankful for the free education. Perhaps in the owner's manual they could include a little passage of clever curse phrases, to keep it fresh every time the plug comes undone when I go from one end of the room to the other. Because I've exhausted all my favorites.

Girl Gone Wild

You know you're getting old when....

You have to put arthritis cream on your foot before you go out on the town. Where "out on the town" means a local bar, sitting instead of dancing, and probably home by 11:30ish.

Just another chapter in my wild wild life.

Guilty Wieners and Dusty Eyes

I always feel like I've been let in on an inside secret when I finally realize the actual words to a song I've been mumbling through for years. You know those songs. The ones where you can understand most of it, and love those parts and sing them really loudly, but there's that one line or two that you can't quite make out, so you just sort of wing it.

I've been singing a line from a song like this, knowing I couldn't quite make out the actual lyrics: "The dust is something something over and and over..." or sometimes I'd think it went like this: "The dust in your eyes is over and over."

Sometimes I'd just start out "The Dust..." and trail off and jump in at the next line ..."Baby blue eyes, your head on my shoulder" - because I KNEW that line, and I'd get really loud there, to prove I knew it.

That's a Rascal Flatts song, by the way. Your welcome. Because if I didn't put it out there you'd have to go all the way to Almighty Google and just satisfy your curiosity.

Now you could be thinking, "Why not just to to Almighty Google and find out what the lyrics are, rather than singing the wrong line all the time?"

Which makes perfect sense, except that I enjoy the challenge of deciphering, Reader. Or I'm too lazy, or just not bothered as much as I am by, say, non-rhythmic trashcan poetry.

Because when you finally get the lyrics?? Oh, is it a smug smug moment. I smugged myself the whole 20 minute ride home, once I figured out the lyrics are actually, "A dust trail following an old red Nova." Because the song is Fast Cars & Freedom. Now it makes sense, the Fast Cars part. Is a Nova a fast car??

Maybe that's still the wrong line, but I feel as if I've really got it. And now I want them to play that song all the time so I can really belt it out.

Other songs that had me lyrically challenged? George Michael: "Two left feet have got no rhythm."

Actually makes more sense than "Guilty feet". Even "Guilty wieners got no rhythm" which is what I also thought it might be saying. And that even makes more sense, Guilty Wieners don't DESERVE any rhythm!

And then there's the song that has made-up words and you THINK you're singing the wrong thing, and come to find out you're doing it right all along.

Example: curialism

Really, song writer? Shame on you for tricking the public.

What have you got, Reader? What are your mystery lyrics?

Where's The Beef?

This was one of three things that managed to annoy me at Burger King:

The non-rhythmic verse on the trash cans. The photo's shitty, let me clarify:

TOSS IT IN DROP IT IN

SLIDE IT IN OFF THE TRAY

JUST GET YOUR TRASH

IN HERE SOME WAY

WTF, Burger King?? That's not a haiku, the meter is all off to be any sort of verse -- it's just B.A.D. -- Bad.

The only thing worse than no attempt is a half-assed attempt, and this is one half-assed attempt at being clever.

I wrote this JUST NOW, I gave it just a half-thought more than zero thought and came up with this:

You can drop it, you can toss it

You can slide it off the tray

Doesn't matter how you do it

Just get your trash in here, your way

Get it? Because BK is all about having it your way? See how easy? And they wouldn't give old crotchety ladies an aneurysm trying to find the rhyme.

Responsible Rhyming, Burger King. That's all I'm asking.

Design on a Dime

We've installed a second bathroom in the house. Kinda like in the movie, The Help, where a second bathroom was highly endorsed, only it's not really like that at all. We finally gave in. Threw down the white flag of surrender, and realized after about a week's worth of cleaning up a pile of poop on the rug, that the problem just wasn't going to go away.

But let me back up first, there's more to the pooping backstory.

Remember when (maybe you don't, why would you remember this, really) I had a bright idea to put newspapers down on the floor in the living room when we travelled, just in case the cat pooped? It would make it much easier to clean up, and wouldn't be sitting on the rug while we were gone. We came home to lots and lots and lots of poops all over that newspaper.

I thought it was a rather successful idea.

Until we went to Vegas over Christmas. We were only gone a couple of days, left on a Sunday, home on a Wednesday. What's the likelihood of poop in that short amount of time? But we put papers down anyway, just in case.

Came home to poop on the papers. Picked it up, threw it out and thought I was done with it.

However. It's never that simple, is it.

I had left the un-pooped on papers on the floor that first night. And the next morning when I got up? Twinkle took a shit right in front of me, on the paper.

I stared in disbelief.

We'd never ONCE thought that Twinkle was the phantom floor pooper. For some reason we seem to believe he's the Smart Cat of the family. We had always assigned him a level of excellence that this incident of pooping leveled.

Unless. Unless, in fact, that my putting the paper down on the floor trained him to believe that the entire living room was now one big litter box. And believe you me, he had a good time scratching around on it before he took his catshit. I watched him go to work, I was in such disbelief that surely the cat that we regarded so highly wasn't actually going to take a shit on the floor (newspaper) right before my eyes. But he did. Oh yes, he did.

So now? We've given up. We put a 2nd litter pan in the corner of the living room. And they have all gone cat-shit-crazy with the freedom/luxury of not having to walk all the way to the back room to do their *what I wish was more personal* business.

Now we get to enjoy the sound and smell of all five of them taking turns pissing and shitting while we watch television/read/blog. Because believe me, they have ALL been enjoying it immensely. It's NEW, of course they are all going to use the newly installed bathroom. They line up to take turns in there.

And I only put a small litter pan there, never anticipating that it would be such a popular pooping spot. As a result, Girl Cat's fat ass sometimes hangs over the edge when she gets in there, and I've had to pick poop up off of the floor anyway.

I've hesitated to even write this blog, because I'm sure you haters out there will think that I have a shit-filled house. However, we do clean it as soon as it happens, so it's not like we're going to qualify for an episode of Hoarders. At least not yet. When I cut a hole in my recliner and decide to just shit right here in the living room while I enjoy uninterrupted blogging, then you may need to stage an Interference. Right now we're still of the mindset to clean it up.

But I watch myself ever so carefully, because Hoarders were at one time Just Like Everyone Else. But then came some defining moment, that pivotal moment when they just stepped over the pile of shit and sat down and watched t.v., and the next thing you know, a team of strangers are in your house shoveling decaying cat carcases (carci?) up off the floor. It all begins with that first ignored poop.

Grandiose Plans

Before Kenny began his training for the new Cleveland casino, I was a much more productive person.

I don't know what has happened to me.

He trains (unpaid, mind you - for which I admire his gumption and dedication, I can't say for certain that I would have the same unpaid motivation) five days per week, 9 a.m. - 1 p.m., Wed-Sun. His days off are Mon-Tues.

I had lofty plans on how I was going to spend my Saturday & Sunday morning hours sans interruptions. I was going to get up my normal weekend time, 9 or 10 a.m., have some coffee, write a little, blog a little, and then go get busy with my organization plans.

Those organization plans are some Grand Plans I have laid out in my mind. Clear out the back "junk/guest" bedroom, where everything without a dedicated space seems to land. Organize the kitchen cupboards. Which, by the way, I have actually done. Get my paperwork files organized. Clear off all the shit that piles up on the kitchen table. I still have a bag of birthday gifts sitting in a bag on the kitchen floor - no place to put 'em, so I've left them there. I have my 2012 plan to figure out space for stuff.

But what really happens? Kenny leaves for training. I get up, feed the cats, look at facebook, cnn.com. The decide it's too early to be up on the weekend, grab Kitty Purry and plop back into bed. And then we catnap until noon. Noon on a good day. Some weekends, Kenny has called me on his way home from training and has awakened me. At 1:00 p.m.

IN THE AFTERNOON.

Shame.

Lazy, lazy shame.

Today? I was up at 8:00 when he went to training. Stayed up til about 8:30. Realized that was ridiculous and went back to bed until 11:50 a.m.

But then? I got up and cleaned out the freezer. Food that's been in there for a year stands a very small chance of getting eaten. I'm talking about leftovers and such, not normal freezer goods like bagged vegetables. Those can last a little longer.

I pulled out some bagged and frozen raspberries that I had gotten from my grandmother. I'm letting them defrost and am going to see if they are salvageable and turn them into pie. With enough sugar they should be good. Right? Well, we'll see.

And that, Reader, is My Exciting Life. Hide your jealousy, it's unbecoming.