The other day I was sitting at my desk cutting up a credit card (one that expired in October. I prefer to use my debit card). I was snipping through the last little bit of plastic, and the tip of my pointer finger got in the way, and I snipped through the end of my finger.
AND IT HURT LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER.
Two days later, it still hurts. It’s not infected, it’s just deeper than your average cut, and it keeps gaping open. I cannot fathom putting super glue on it because it would sting like a motherfucker. The only thing that works is to put one bandaid over the end of my finger and another around the end.
What a fucking annoyance – and I still can’t believe I did such a boneheaded stupid-ass thing. I guess I should thank my lucky stars that my finger wasn’t at a different angle, I could have snipped the fucking thing right off my finger.
(Which would have been badass. I could have made up a story about being on the run from the LAW and getting the end of my finger shot right off my hand. But alas.)
I’ve been on a roll lately as far as coming up with nicknames for the cats. I probably haven’t mentioned this before (or maybe I have, don’t know), but we tend to add “butt” or “pants” to the end of the cats’ names when we’re talking to them. Reacher becomes “Reachie-pants” and “Reachie-butt.” (He’s also “Creechie-butt” too, which comes from his other nickname Reacher-Creature, also sometimes just plain Creature.)
Fred was talking to Corbie, and he called him “Corbie-butt” several times. I thought for a moment and said “Cor-butt.”
Fred laughed.
(Oddly, I often call Sugarbutt “Sugarpants” and announce “He’s wearing his Suggie-pants!” as Sugarbutt walks through the room. I do not know what the hell I mean by that.)
It’s not so much an issue lately, but after we first got Alice, she had some killer breath. Fred went on and on about it, and after a little while I called her “Alice-tosis,” which he appreciated.
A few weekends ago, we were in Walmart, and Fred tossed a box of the Walmart version of Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls into the cart. When we got home, I called them “Swiss Fake Rolls” (and then laughed and laughed at how funny I am).
Like I said, I’ve been on a roll.
(But not a Swiss Fake Roll.)
Wow. That was a lame and weak ending to that section. I’m going to put a little section here so that that section doesn’t infect following sections with its lame and weak suckitude.
Okay. Let’s take a deep breath and move on.
I don’t know what set them off, but the cats (I suspect Sugarbutt and Joe Bob, though it’s possible Maxi is involved, too, and really who the hell knows just which cats are involved? There are 58 of them up in this goddamn house.) have been on a pissapalooza. I don’t know if it’s because the Bradys are gone or because Alice is still here, or exactly WHAT the fuck the issue is. This happens from time to time (maybe twice a year, I’d guess) and it always pisses me off.
(See what I did there?)
Before it got light up yesterday morning, I ended up going around the front room and the computer room (the rooms they usually target) with a black light, a handful of cleaning rags, and the bottle of Anti Icky Poo, and cleaning up all the pee I could find.
Fucking cats.
On the up side, all the cat pee I could find was on the baseboards or floor and thus easily cleanable.
I was up at 3:30 yesterday morning because I’d put Alice in the foster room overnight, and girlfriend wanted OUT. At 3:30, I could no longer sleep through the howling and the banging on the door, so I got up and showered and started my day.
At 7:30, I left the house with Alice in a carrier, and took her to a vet clinic 25 minutes away. I left her there (and how pleased was I that the receptionist recognized the name “Alice Nelson” as Alice from The Brady Bunch? SO pleased!), and picked her up yesterday afternoon. She had a nasal endoscopy to see if she had a polyp above her soft palate, and as it turned out (because it can never be something simple, you know) she does not. So I’ll let y’all know what the next step is when I know. At least we were able to rule out a polyp!
Alice was REALLY happy to be home, and despite being a little groggy from the anesthesia, she was playing and rubbing up against Reacher, and eating as soon as Fred let her out of the carrier.
I really need to get a shot of Alice next to one of the big cats so you can see just how tiny she is.
Corbie is one beautiful boy, is he not?
Indeed he is. “Pay no attention to the Rhyme behind me.”
Spanky’s pretty spry for an old man. I mean, he’s not being particularly spry in this picture, I know. You’ll just have to take my word for it.
Previously
2010: Cheesecake pose.
2009: “I sense oncoming snacks!”
2008: No entry.
2007: No entry.
2006: Fuck you, Lesley Stahl.
2005: Yes, I look like a dork.
2004: Better paranoid than hitchhiking across the country to meet some perv though, eh?
2003: No online presence in the day and age where every Joe Dork has a page? Inconceivable!
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Ooooh, lucky me, I got to go to the gynecologists’ today!