3/6/06

Currently reading: Any Place I Hang My Hat, by Susan Isaacs. So far, it’s really good. I had a hard time putting it down last night, even though I could barely keep my eyes open. Recently finished: Plain Truth, by Jodi Picoult. It ended up being a good book, with a surprising little twist at the end that I totally didn’t see coming.

* * * Friday night, Fred and I watched Walk the Line. It was a movie I enjoyed a lot – I didn’t know much about Johnny Cash and June Carter – and I found it interesting. There was a lot of music, which I like in a movie about a singer, and when it ended I didn’t want it to. So the movie ended, and there was text on the screen telling what had happened with Johnny Cash, and it got to the part where June Carter Cash died in 2003, and Johnny Cash died four months later. I turned to Fred and said “I remember when she died, a lot of people said that he probably wasn’t going to be around much longer.” “That happens a lot,” Fred said. “Where one person dies and the other hangs on for a few months and then follows him or her.” “Yeah, YOU’LL probably hang on for fifty YEARS after I die!” I said. “Bessie,” he said. “I think we ALL know I’m going to die first.” “Why is that?” I said. And he began his litany of aches and pains. “My knees, my shoulders, my ankles!” “That’s got nothing to do with dying,” I scoffed. “You won’t DIE from that stuff, you’ll just end up in a wheelchair. I’ll end up wiping your ass for twenty years, and then they’ll have to make a movie about OUR great love story.” I headed for the bathroom to pee. “And they’ll have to call it Wipe the Ass!” Fred laughed, and by the time I came out of the bathroom, he was standing in the middle of the living room, arms spread wide. A grin on his face, he began singing, to the tune of Walk the Line: This wheelchair makes me dependent on my lass. I keep my mouth shut, I try not to harass. Cause when my farts have something more than gas – It is her task, To wipe my ass. Each day I fill my underpants with poo. Sometimes it’s firm, but often more like glue. And yet she knows, still knows just what to do. It is her task, To wipe my ass. This would be just one of the many reasons I love that man – his whole life is a musical. * * * I realized at 4 am Friday morning that I consider the cats to be my own personal security detail. I was half-awake because Sugarbutt was slurping on my neck and kneading on my chest. Suddenly, he stopping kneading and slurping, and came to attention, staring off out the doorway of my bedroom. I heard a sound that strongly resembled a dog barking – one short bark – and a second later, he and Miz Poo both FLEW off the bed and out the door. This got my attention because Sugarbutt will leap off the bed and go to investigate at the drop of a hat, but it about takes a stick of dynamite to get Miz Poo to move her ass. So I stood up and went toward the door to see if I could figure out what was going on, and I saw Mister Boogers, Spanky, Spot, and Tommy milling around the floor of my bedroom. They all seemed pretty disturbed by something, and I started to wonder if perhaps someone had broken into the house. (That’s always my first thought, because I’m a spaz.) So I put my nightgown on and slowly moved out into the hallway right outside my bedroom, and listened to see if I could hear anything. The cats continued to mill around, and then Spot walked by me, squeaked at me, and walked downstairs. And then I realized that the house was safe, because if there was a strange person in the house there is no WAY ON EARTH Spot would walk down the stairs. He would, in fact, be hiding under a bed or a couch and wouldn’t come out for three days. I went back to bed, safe and secure in the knowledge that I can count on the cats to let me know if my life is in danger. And I’m sure I’ll continue to believe that until the night I’m sound asleep and Sugarbutt leads someone directly into my room so they can viciously slaughter me in my sleep. * * * The Daddy is so hot that Tommy melts right off the pillow. Straws is yummy. Is it just me, or does Sugarbutt look like a stuffed bear? Sugarbutt, up close. All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: Want some cats? 2002: I had no idea what to say – “Well, of COURSE you’re only going to date someone you think is cute!”? Then I’m anti-ugly. 2001: Except for that crying at the drop of a hat thing, she’s just fine. 2000: Do y’all ever do that, have moments where the startling realization that you’re a complete dumbass smacks you in the face? ]]>