I am exceedingly tired of looking at Tim Minchin. So here’s a post to push him down the page.
I came across a really great tweet today and I’ll share but it occurred to me that the people who read this blog (that I know about, anyway) already know this.
To wit: @SocialMedia411: We go to LinkedIn to look for reasons to hire someone, then go to Facebook to look for reasons not to.”
I thought that was very succinct. Keep those filters working, folks!
Bob is gone this week, took his middle son to Seattle, mainly so he (Bob) could go on a road trip. Can’t say as I blame him. It feels like it’s been ages since we’ve been anywhere. I’d love to get out of town, but last year I promised Cheetah I wouldn’t leave her with anyone else until she dies. I told you all this, right? She’s looking mighty healthy at the moment, which is 95% good news and 5% Oh-My-God-I-Have-Cabin-Fever.
Cheetah’s annoying half sister, Ray Lynn aka RayMo aka Mo, was born in 1995 and is a year older. Two weeks ago the new vet said Ray Lynn (Rae Lynn? RaeLin? sigh) was in exceptionally good shape for a cat of that age and didn’t actually believe me about how old she was until she saw the age marks in the iris when she looked closely. So there are some good genetic factors there that are keeping us off the road, and probably will for more years than I care to think about. Perhaps I will reconsider our stay-at-home agreement, but for the moment, one of us will always be here. Too bad Andrew has a family of his own to take care of. I miss that handy resource. :) I always trust him with our animals and he’s not afraid to give Cheetah her shots every day.
Hah. I just took a break and fed the dogs whipped cream out of a can. Sissy is perfectly willing to just open up and have me squirt it into her mouth sans contact with the nozzle, but Goob was another matter. It was the tail end of the can, so we practiced. He still wants to lick it and put his mouth all over it, so he doesn’t get to participate much in the whipped cream experience. He didn’t get any better at it by the time the can was empty. He’s always such a dork compared to Sissy. I wish I could take a picture while I’m doing this, but it is just too delicate a process, if you know what I mean. Plus, you know, PETA.
While Bob is gone I am experiencing deep, deep joy in letting my messy banner fly. I always keep it in check (which requires HEAVY and CONSTANT policing on my part) when he’s around, but with him out of the picture I am dropping things and letting them lay. Lie. Whatever. I’m delirious with it. I am, by nature, a completely messy person and apparently always will be. I thought I’d get over it if I held it under tight control for a long time but noooooooooo, it’s always hard and I always love letting loose. If I lived by myself one would need a shovel to get in my front door. Probably. Actually, when I DID live by myself last time I was fairly clean. But it was out of fear that the landlord would come over because he felt sorry for my cat and was compelled to let her in and out while I was at work. Little did I know that his son who had lived there previously was one of those people who would let garbage bags pile up inside the house. So I looked like an angel by comparison. Probably even on my worst day I’m an angel in comparison to that. But in the dark recesses of my mind I see my crazy [depressed, addicted, addled] oldest sister’s crap pile of a house before she was incarcerated into long term care. With the garbage bags and the dog poop and the dirty dishes and overflowing ash trays. And I am motivated to stay on the side of godliness.
In other, other sad news, we attended a funeral in Idaho this week. My 54 year old cousin Karma shot herself. It was a terrible funeral — so, so sad and we all cried our guts out. She was the first person in my generation to die in the family on that side. I spent weeks every summer with Karma and her two brothers growing up. I hadn’t seen her in ages, and didn’t even know she was in such rough shape. That’s sad, too, the way we have all fallen out of touch, and I attribute some of my grief to that. I spent two full days after the funeral with my other two sisters, walking, and talking, and drinking beer and watching old movies. It was healing for me and I’m glad we had the time together.
Ug, I am tired of being sad. I will leave you (and me) with a happy dog picture. Her name is Ruby and she is a random dog in Sacramento via Facebook. Better looking than Tim Minchin, for sure.