journal entries, ’cause it really hurts to shoot Diet Coke out your nose. I’ve done it so often that no doubt the inside of my nose looks like I’ve spent twenty years snorting heroin (does one snort heroin? I am completely clueless when it comes to drug matters).
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I just cracked myself up, because Meester Boogers just came through the cat door and I always turn around to be sure he’s not carrying a bird or large insect in his mouth when he comes in from outside, and he glanced over at me, and because you MUST greet the kitties when you see them, I said “Hey, Pooperman!” and Meester Boogers made his patented grumpy noise at me, and I laughed and laughed at the fact that I’d just called him “Pooperman” and he’d responded.
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I went to the pet store twice this week (the regular Tuesday morning person was out of town and I was covering for her). Monday’s pictures are
here, and Tuesday’s are
here. I have completely fallen in love with Brewster, and so I hope like hell that he’s adopted before I go again on Monday, because I cannot be held responsible for what I’ll do if he isn’t.
Also, I took a picture of one of the kittens making the patented Meester Boogers “I am disturbed” face:
That’s Justine, by the way.
I actually considered popping Meester Boogers into the cat carrier and taking him to the pet store with me. Mostly because I’ve never seen him with a smaller cat and I’m curious to see what his reaction would be, but also because I think he’d like playing with the pet store kitties, because at home the other cats usually either growl at him, smack him, or run away rather than actually play with him. But I didn’t want to put him through the trauma of being in the carrier and then the car. Plus, he has a loud-ass meow that would have gotten on my nerves pretty damn quick.
Maybe one of these days, though…
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“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said to Fred the other night, mocking him about something I can’t for the life of me recall now.
“You just shut up,” he said from where he was standing by the window. “Or I’ll come over there and smack that look right off of your face!”*
“Shut up, motherfucker!” I said brilliantly.
“Oh, isn’t that just like a Democrat**!” he smirked, sitting down in the chair in front of his desk. “Nothing smart to say, so you call me names!”
“Oh, and isn’t THAT just like a Republican***!” I responded. “Something you don’t like, so you pull out the threats of physical violence!”
For once, he had no good comeback.
*Note for the humor impaired (because I just
know someone’s going to take offense): Fred would hit me right around the time hell froze over, but he likes to jokingly threaten physical violence. We both do, for that matter. Because it’s something that would never happen in our house, we think it’s humorous to joke about it. If that offends you, I’m sorry. But you don’t get a vote in what goes on in our house, mm’kay?
**Voting for Kerry does not make me a Democrat, just for the record.
***Also, voting for Bush doesn’t make Fred a Republican. In case you were wondering.
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I still haven’t gotten around to taking those pictures I owe y’all, in case you were wondering. Maybe THIS weekend I’ll get around to it…
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Pooperman. Hee!
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