Fred and the spud are going to see David Copperfield tonight, and I will have the house to myself for a few hours. Everyone’s invited over to my house for a big par-tay! Bring your own alcohol, though, unless you want to finish off the strawberry dacquiri wine coolers I bought two years ago and only drank one of. There are also some frozen pina colada packets in the freezer I bought last New Year’s Eve and haven’t touched since. Oh, and let’s not forget the remainders of the 6-pack of beer Fred bought last summer when he was craving a beer. We’re total alcoholics, we are. So yesterday, I had to go back to see Nice Dr. Dang for a quick little post-op visit, wherein she glanced in my ear, made sure the tube was still there, and pronounced that my ear looked fine. They’d had to drain a lot of fluid out of my ear, she told me, and then she asked if hearing had come back in that ear. I told her (enthusiastically) that it had come back and then some, and I was extremely happy with the results. She told me I’d need to come back in two weeks for a hearing test, and then again in four months. After I left Dr. Dang’s office, I went to Garden Cove, which is basically a health-food store, but they get a new shipment of fresh fruits and vegetables every Tuesday which rock in a big way. I bought (among other things) romaine and iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, pole beans, and other items which escape my memory at the moment. A cart full of vegetables and fruits which would have cost at least $40 at the grocery store cost less than $20 at Garden Cove. Of course, all the good, fresh vegetables were a tad offset by the creme-filled Krispy Kreme donuts I bought yesterday. So, how long does it take a bird to build a nest, fer crying out loud? Two birds have been building one in the bush in front of my office for a week and a half now. They build a nest there every summer; in a few weeks we’ll be hearing the cheepcheepcheep of baby birdies. Speaking of babies, the kitten is scheduled to be fixed next Tuesday. I’m dreading it so much. I know we have to have it done, but I hate that she’ll be confused and in pain, AND she has to stay at the vet’s overnight, and what will I do when she doesn’t wake me at 4:45, looking for love? Waaaaaah! Yes, I’m a goober, I think we all know that. Okay, I’m outta here. Y’all stop by sometime between 6:00 and 8:00 for a coke and a kitty-rub, won’t you? —–]]>
03/15/2000