* * *
I taped yesterday’s episode of Oprah – well, to be honest, I tape every episode of Oprah, ’cause the DVR’s set up to catch them all, shaddup – and last night Fred and I started watching it. She was in New Orleans, and I swear to god, I started crying about two seconds into the show.
We didn’t end up watching the whole thing – I kept getting up to talk on the phone – but I think I’m going to watch the rest later today.
I feel so stupid, because I guess I didn’t realize the scope of the thing. It’s like, you think “Well, the national guard is there, they’re giving them food and water, and they should all be out of there in, oh, like a day. Right?” Apparently not. Apparently you don’t evacuate that many people instantly.
I think I still don’t realize the scope of the thing. I wonder if I ever truly will. I’m not sure I could ever wrap my brain around it.
* * *
Yesterday I watched
Kill Reality. And may I just say, that with all the people who keep claiming that Jonny Fairplay is “one of my closest friends! I love him to death!”, there’s either some kind of hidden depths to the man they’re just not showing us, or all those people are fucked straight out of their minds.
In fact, after having seen the most recent episode, I’ve gotta say that everyone in that house aside from Stephen Hill (is that his name?), Ethan, Reichen, Trish and MAYBE Rob are complete assholes. What the fuck is up with Jenna Lewis and Jenna Morasca acting like fucking grade-schooler shit-stirrers? I am NOT FOND of those two.
I predict that the big horrible thing that Jonny Fuckhead does that gets his ass kicked out of the house is going to involve feces. I fully expected him to take a dump on Trish’s bed when they were hanging up the porn.
Yeah. I’m working on getting that life, I promise!
* * *
I didn’t get any pictures of it, but last night the stank coming off Rambo’s hindquarters was so strong that we finally gave in to the inevitable and gave him a bath.
By “we”, I mean Fred, because he’s actually given cats baths before. Rather than opting for the whole-body bath, he just washed him from the midsection down, with an emphasis on his (Rambo’s, not Fred’s) behind. Rambo actually didn’t fight it much, and when he was done he was fresh-smelling and looked like a half-drowned rat.
This morning, however, I do believe the stank is coming back, slowly but surely. Maybe he’s just a stanky cat, I don’t know.
Good thing for him he’s so damn cute.
The monkeys team up on Mister Boogers.
Rambo, asleep on my arm.
Rambo, desperate to do some wool-sucking, didn’t particularly care that Mister Boogers was already in the bed. Mister Boogers was thrilled, as you can imagine.
That boy just cracks me up, because he’s just SO HAPPY.
Snugglin’ kittens.
* * *
Previously
2004: No entry.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: IT’S NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS WHO IT IS.
2000: Am I not an ass-kicking WalkAerobics diva?]]>