So...
I start work again next week. I already know that y'all don't feel one bit sorry for my "off for much of the summer" ass. I get it. But now I'm swamped in last-minute preparations and such. Plus, the stress level at work has risen to Plus 3,589% in the past week or so- a fact which has not left me unscathed.
The recipe for this past week: Start with last-minute worries of complete job loss, add in "unstable" humans (being uncharacteristically nice here, not referring to myself for once), sprinkle on a last-minute class to set up basically from scratch, stir vigorously then set on fire. Viola!
Bubs understands my situation. He thinks that maybe some human-doggy makeout action would help me feel better. Here he is giving me his "Baby, you know you want a piece of this" look. Sorry Bubs, you're only like 16 in human years and I'm pretty sure that's illegal.
*Just kidding. I totally make out with him all the time.
Maybe some ice cream would help?
When the Mr. asked me the other night if I wanted some ice cream, I said yes, but "only a little, little,
little bit." I stressed the
little, simply because normally "a bit" or "not too much" for him means that I'm getting a bucket of ice cream with a shovel to eat it with. I really only wanted a
little.
He's such a smartass:
He called it an "amuse bouche", which was pretty clever for an engineer. I guess all the "Top Chef" is wearing off on him.
Amused or not, I still made him get me more.
What do you get when you take an occasionally neurotic and skittish kitty and add in an imaginary whatever that you can't see but she can and it's totally freaking her out?
(again, a warning: grossness ahead- for realsies.)
This:
Note to self: Next time, trim BOTH the front and back claws. Dumbass. In case you are wondering/care- I measured the owie and it is 1-1/4" long.
Now you know why my hands look so pretty all the time. Yuk.
Happy Wednesday, my little bowls of finger-flavored ice cream. Happy Wednesday.
XO
We had brunch at the Triple Rock Social Club this morning, the sort of place where our usual waitress has a fully tattooed face, and the regulars at the bar are drinking shots of whiskey at 10:00 AM and looking like they haven't slept or bathed since 1986. I love this place. The portions are huge, the bloodies are strong and cheap, they have an actual jukebox loaded with everything from Black Flag to Otis Redding, and they always get my cheesy potatoes just right.
