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I’m at the store, buying a graduation card for a friend.

Cashier: Do you need a bag?

Me: Nope, thanks.

Cashier: {puts card in a bag}

Cashier: Do you need cash back?

Me: Nope.{Wonders if I’m going to get cash back anyway.}

No such luck, maybe next time.


You know it’s been a long couple of hours and days at work when you’re scrolling through titles of journal articles online and misread “decapeptide” as “decapitation”.

Clearly, a weekend is in order!

Oh, look, there’s one now!

Honksuary: Where the goose is kept in the church.

Boinkipedia: A website where you can log all your bedroom conquests, but other people are allowed to edit them.


Let’s just say that dinner tonight was hilarious, and I hope we didn’t disturb the other patrons with our laughter.

Scene: John and I are watching “Top Gear”, a British car show. I’ve fallen almost asleep on the couch.


Announcer: It’s even, you might say, a bit squidgy.

Me: Squidgy?

John: That’s what he said.

Me: As in squid?

John: I don’t know.

Me: What do squid have to do with cars?

John: Maybe it’s a British thing.

On the not-so-good side:

Why should cereal inspire nausea? Not the “oh I don’t feel good” kind, but the “drop what you’re doing and run for the bathroom” kind? Hrm? Am I going back to the phase in November when the sight or smell or taste of most foods made me sick? Dear body: I do not appreciate this. Regardless, the feeling passed, thankful without the predictable conclusion, and I got up off the bathroom floor and managed to finish breakfast. I’m not sure I’m willing to try lunch for awhile. So much for the Doritos.

On the other side:

On our way home from the farmer’s market yesterday morning (mmm, Indian naan wraps for breakfast), a man drove past us in a Hummer. He was dressed as a clown. Makeup and wig and at least clown shirt. I kid you not. John will back me up on this one. I’m really hoping the explanation is as simple as “birthday party for child in our neighborhood” + “clowns are paid excessively well”.

We’re dog-sitting over Thanksgiving weekend and the following week for some of our friends. They live south of us, conveniently near where John works, and not-so-conveniently far from where I work. Oh well, he’s had the longer-distance commute for four years now, never mind that they take the same amount of time.

In order not to have to stop at home and add to the commute time, we figured we’d try mixing the dog and our cats. The dog likes to chase rabbits, so we’re leaving the bunny at home and I’ll just stop by and see him, hopefully every day, but if I don’t have time, it’s no big deal. Also, there’s the mail to pick up. And the DVR to check to make sure it’s not full and is about to delete essential things while meanwhile recording the 10-hour marathon of Mythbusters. (It’s happened twice. And we keep losing other good shows because of it. If Mythbusters weren’t so entertaining…)

Anyway, so, we decided to take the cats over to meet the dog last night. Along with some homemade spicy blackbean soup and some homemade bread (I got me a good husband!) to make up for any infighting that occurred.

If I’d been asked to make a prediction, I’d have figured that the dog would take a couple joyful sniffs, maybe a lick or two, and move on to something else, namely watching food or trying to get a human to pet him. Meanwhile, I figured there’d be plenty of puffed up fur, growling, and glaring from high perches from the cats.

Umm, not so much.

The gray one growled a bit, and hearing a growl come from a seemingly harmless black bag made the dog pretty uneasy. We let the cats out cautiously from their two carriers, and stood around watching to see what the interactions would be like.

The dog retreated to a safe distance and the cats set about exploring the house. For the rest of the evening, that was pretty much how it went. The cats laid around, occasionally balefully staring at the dog, occasionally exploring new nooks and crannies (or taking over the big plush dog bed–that was Fatty).

And the dog would retreat to the farthest corner that was near his mommy, and usually try to climb into her lap. There was a good amount of whining from him, not in a threatening sense, but in a “what are these things and why are they in my house?” sense.

No fighting, no real interplay. It was a bit reassuring. I’m not worried about leaving them alone now, and I’m figuring that after a day or two, they’ll come to terms with each other and either be reluctant co-occupants, or friends.

Of course, we’ll still keep a close eye on them over the Thanksgiving weekend.

But I have to say it’s pretty hilarious to watch a 100lb dog try to climb into his mom’s lap over two 10lb (okay, okay, one 10lb and one 12.5lb) balls of fur.

How, you ask??

Here’s how: The cats had fleas awhile back (and thanks again for the advice on how to get rid of them). We treated them for 3 months and called it good.

The gray cat sort of stopped grooming himself while we were treating him, and we figured he didn’t like the taste of the flea meds. After he didn’t resume, though, we got worried.

We brushed him. No luck.

So we bathed him. Even less luck.

And yes, we’re both still sporting battle wounds.

As John was taking the cats to the vet the next day for their shots, he asked the vet about it. She couldn’t find anything wrong with him.

So she shaved him.

But only the area where his fur was matted and knotted. And only enough to get the clumps out. So it’s all a bit ragged, and he’s just the funniest looking cat.

Poor guy. We’ve had fun laughing at him, but he’s super soft where he’s been shaved, so he’s gotten lots of petting to make up for the laughing.

The Gray Cat...Shaved

The Gray Cat...Shaved

Is that…? Can it be?

Just two Iowa sisters, enjoying their sweet corn, with PIG CORN HOLDERS!!!!

Pig corn holders!

Pig corn holders!

Up close!

Up close!

From Cute Overload. Think Gilbert and Sullivan’s “I am the very model of a modern major general” meets “adorable baby bunny”.


I am the very model of a bouncing baby bunny butt
I’ve bounced across the continent, from port to park to Pizza Hut
I know the whole Glossary, and I quote -isms Cute-icle
While standing on my two front paws, in manner most anerable

I’m very well acquainted, too, with matters controversial
I comprehend what ticks you off, both social and satirical
I clarify the Where and Why of issues touching all of us
From literary inchworm to domestic hippopotamus

I’m practiced as a pilot and like Lindbergh I can navigate
From bunway to the bayou, from the Midwest to the Golden Gate
I’ve sampled every pudding type from cantaloupe to coconut
I am the very model of a bouncing baby bunny butt!

Can detect that I’m in Portugal, and give me appropriate headings. However, I can’t read them. Good thing WordPress knows I’m American and speak only English, no matter what internet line I’m connecting on.


May 2018
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