Now! New and improved! In that bullet form the kids are all so keen on these days!
- When I was walking Bubs yesterday, he stopped to sniff obsessively and (of course) pee on a fire hydrant. And older dude in a tan trenchcoat walked by us as Bubs was mid-stream. Old dude looks at me, then at Bubs. He then says (still looking at Bubs tinkling), "Yeah, that's how I do it too" and continues walking. Huh. I hope that I don't get what he meant, but nonetheless I still feel bad for his neighbors.
- One of my neighbors is getting a new roof. When I was walking Bubs a few days ago (seriously- this is all I do anymore), one of the roofers seemed to take a shining to me. I can't say I blame him- really, who can't resist a sexy broad wearing faded yoga pants, tennies so old they are considered "antique", a sweater with used kleenex hanging out of the pockets, no makeup and a mismatched knit hat? He appeared to be of Latin descent, and from what little Spanish I know, he seemed to be expressing his appreciation for my lovely bottom as well as requesting that I help him perform some sort of "job" with him. When I turned and gave him a look of disgust and said "Really?!? Seriously- REALLY??", he then called me an ugly dog. Or he was admiring Bubs. Or something. Really, my Spanish is limited to ordering fancy margaritas and navigating the deli counter at the Mexican grocery, so what the hell do I know- I'm no roofer.
- Lesson learned: never turn one of your favorite pans on high with olive oil in it and then think you turned it off while you ran upstairs to pee. Also: never stop (after peeing) to snuggle with your kitty cats, put away a little laundry, stare at your pores and then pee again while said pan is still on the stove. We'll just say that my house smelled like a tire fire for three days, and my favorite pan now looks like this (and is currently on day 5 of soaking in the kichen sink):
- I seem to have developed a bit of a birdseed addiction. I am currently going through about 20 pounds of it a week, and yesterday I tried to give the cashier at Petco a handie in exchange for some "really good seed". Had the cashier actually been male, this may have worked. My devotion to my kitties and wanting only the finest birds for them to bonk their heads against the glass porch door in a sad effort to eat the tweeters knows no bounds.
- I get my groceries delivered. There, I said it. I'm not one to splurge on extravagant things- up until recently I always cut my own hair, I refuse to spend more than $40 on a pair of jeans, and I use my nail clippings and shed hair in craft projects that I sell on street corners. But this? This, I deserve. I go online Thursday night, tap-tap-tap in my order, and Friday morning a fresh-faced delivery dude greets me (usually still in my jammies, no bra, with serious pillow face) with a stack of green tote boxes filled with everything from kleenex, to eggs, to booze. This is the best thing I have ever done for myself, aside from that one time I gave myself the Nobel prize for snack-food themed literature. Anyways...they ("they" being the grocery wizards) seem to think it's funny to send me the latest issue of "Parent" magazine every few orders. And the answer is no- no they do not mean "animal parent". They actually mean "human parent", which is just plain stupid. I mean, the volume of boxed wine that I order should tell them that I am unfit to be responsible for something that will eventually hate me for not letting them get facial tattoos and move to Europe to join a tulip-farming commune. Wait- maybe the booze is exactly why they think I have kids. Again, I'm confused.
- Not much else, just work, cooking, wining and dining with friends, thinking about finally unpacking from the San Fran trip, scratching itchy spots, and internet shopping.