(click on the image to see the full picture)
After Wal-Mart, we came home, loaded the Jeep up with more boxes, and headed out again. This time, we dumped the boxes off at the dumpster behind the DI offices, calling on Fred to come give us a hand. That Jeep was jam-packed with boxes, lemmetellya, and there are still 3 or 4 boxes yet to be hauled away. When the boxes had been dumped, we went to the cat store to pet and covet all the cats. (This, by the way, is the same cat store where we got Tubby and the kitten (I almost typed "Tubby and the spud" there)) There were several kittens there, but none were particularly friendly. We spent ten or fifteen minutes in the "cat room" where they keep most of the adult cats, petting and talking to the various cats. Most of them were pretty friendly, but a black and white declawed female was after my heart, meowing almost constantly, rubbing on my legs, then jumping up on a cat tower so she could be face to face with me. This time, however, we left with only a bag full of cat toys.
We waited until after we’d eaten lunch to get out the new cat toys, but once we did the kitten was thrilled to have new toys to lose under the couch. She was pretty much a blur for a while as she ran from one toy to another. 
Finally, she settled down with the orange feather duster and took a breather. The other cats sat and watched her run back and forth like a dork, shaking their kitty heads in disgust. "She’s a CAT, not a DOG," they said to each other. "She’s not supposed to FETCH. What a disgrace to the feline species." 
And then they laid back, kicked their hind legs in the air and licked their butts. 
Okay, I guess this whole entry can’t be about the cats, so I’ll refer to the notes I jotted to myself this morning. Fred’s smooth ass. Cops. Rude bitch in Wal-Mart. Creepy guy in Wal-Mart. Well, doesn’t it sound like y’all are in for a treat!
First off, I just have to say that my husband has the smoothest ass, ever. Ever. It’s as smooth as – nay, smoother than – a baby’s bottom. And how does he achieve this silky smoothness? Does he loofah twice a day and rub baby oil into his cheeks with a soft cotton cloth? Nope. Does he use special, extra-softening body wash in the shower, perhaps? Use an exfoliating rub? No and no. He does nothing. Nothing, and his ass skin is soft, smooth, and a pleasure to touch. The bastard. Should any of you have the opportunity to touch his ass, I highly recommend it.
Saturday evening, Fred and I were watching Cops. They were undercover – I don’t recall the city – and a guy approached the undercover cop and asked if he wanted crack. The cop indicated that he did, and the guy, before getting in the cop’s truck, said "Are you a cop or affiliated with any law enforcement agency?" "No," the cop said.
Let me repeat that: "No," the cop said. Fred and I have a long-running dispute over whether or not undercover cops have to admit to being cops when asked directly. He swears up and down that they have to tell the truth, whereas I think that’s idiotic. Why should they have to admit to being cops? He says it’s entrapment if they lie, but I don’t see how that could be. Our argument got so heated that Fred called his mother once, who lives next door to a former Chief of Police. She went next door and asked him, and he told her that yes, they have to admit to being cops. I just don’t buy it! Why should they have to blow their cover like that? Anyone out there know for sure? Let me know.
There was this incredibly rude bitch in Wal-Mart this morning who was taking up the whole makeup aisle with her freakin’ cart. She turned around and looked at me as I approached, then turned back to her perusal of the Cover Girl liquid makeup. There was no way I could get around this woman, and I waited patiently for a moment, then loudly said "EXCUSE ME!" Without looking at me, she reached out and moved her cart one-tenth of an inch toward her side of the aisle. I waited a moment more, trying to decide if I should just ram her cart out of the way, then sighed loudly and turned my cart around and went back the way I came. When I came down the next aisle, who do you suppose was just coming up? That’s right, Rude Bitch. I glared at her and muttered "Oh, need to take up every aisle in the fucking store, do we?" Okay, so I muttered it under my breath so she couldn’t hear it, but I said it.
Recounting the Rude Bitch story from this morning reminds me of the time the spud and I were at FoodWorld, and the woman moseying along in front of us came to a dead stop. Again, in the center of the aisle so no one could get around her. What the hell is up with that? When I am shopping, I make a point of keeping my ass and my cart out of peoples’ way. Anyway, when the woman in FoodWorld came to a halt and stared down at her list, I rolled my eyes. Said the spud, as loud as humanly possible – which is her way – "HOW COME YOU ROLLED YOUR EYES?" I blushed and hissed "Shhht uppp!" at her, but the woman did move out of my way.
When we were checking out – I guess I should say I was checking out, since the spud had gone with her 2 remaining quarters to the machines – I realized, as I was merrily punching in my PIN (****, for those keeping track at home)(ha! I slay me!) while making no effort to cover the keypad as I should have, that there was a fairly creepy-looking guy staring in my direction. I whipped my head around, and he all obviously shifted his gaze to the floor, making it apparent that he’d been watching me. Immediately I became paranoid, believing that he was planning to follow me out to the parking lot and either snatch my purse or hold me up at gunpoint. While standing there, I kept glancing at him, giving him the gimlet-eyed "I see you looking at me, and I know what you’re planning, motherfucker" glare. He looked at me twice more before he finally scurried off to find another hapless victim.
The moral of the story is, don’t even think about fucking with me, or I’ll give you a really mean look.]]>
05/22/2000