Picture time!

Here's the one and only Domino getting into some mischief inside of a plastic bag while I was wrapping Christmas presents (yes, these pics are THAT old!)



There's Molly, lounging out on the couch, notice the buddha belly.


And this was the scene out our front window after a road crew decided that a gas line had broken somewhere in the neighborhood, and that our front yard was a good a place as any to start digging.



Here is Dom again, showing off our lovely, newly-redecorated (in November) bathroom.

Grumble
So last night I was supposed to get a *free* facial. Didn't happen. The facial person (what do you call them, a facialist?) called in sick and I think the free promotion was only in March, so no free facial for me. That's the only way I was going to do it, too. So I was bummed. I was looking forward to that little bit of pampering.

Instead, we took my husband's car to the dealership for the fourth time in three weeks for the check engine light. I'm beginning to smell a distinctly citrus scent around that car... I mean, it's a '98, so it's bound to have problems, but this is out of hand. His '86 Astro Van doesn't have this much wrong with it. At least all the check engine crap is under warranty right now, so it's not costing us a penny... yet. Which is good, because we do not have a spare penny to speak of.

We ended up going out to eat at Bennigan's, which was fun. Their chicken strips are really good. And the next day, they are even better. You get such a huge portion there that I always have three to take home, and so those are my lunch today.

I missed the beginning of AI, and so can't comment on JPL, LaToya, and whoever else I missed, but I did see poor John Stevens' horrible rendition of "My Girl." He's a cute little guy but he's not cut out for the pop star thing. I am over Fantasia. She thinks too highly of herself and it's not endearing, whatsoever. George keeps getting better each week, and has a legitimate shot, I think. I thought Diana wasn't that great but the judges disagreed... Amy Adams is also pretty decent. Jasmine is cute but I don't know if she'll make it to the end.

And the Cavs continue on their downward spiral. Goodbye playoffs. Hey, we're used to this in Cleveland! Oh look, is it baseball season? Maybe the Indians will surprise everyone and have a good year! *fastens heart to sleeve*

I probably have more to gripe about but I'll save it for later. Ooh! I have pictures too! Finally! From ages ago! I'll have to wait until the scanner is unoccupied...

Banned
I hereby ban all radio advertising from using any and all sound effects relating to police sirens and truck horns. I was passing a truck (in usual road rage mode) this morning and a commercial came on that featured the sound of a blaring truck horn. I thought it was real and that the truck was honking at me. It made me jump a little bit. Not funny. Nor is it funny when I think that a police siren sound effect is real and I look in my rearview mirror to see if I'm being pulled over.

And that one McDonald's breakfast commerical with the alarm clock noise? Just on the annoyingness factor, let's take that one off the air, as well. Thanks!

Take that, George
It's a beautiful thing when Opening Day is still a week away, but the Yankees already have one in the loss column. Not to mention, it's to the Devil Rays.

Look what I've become
I never in a million years thought that I'd become one of those people who thinks that cats are great and that everything cats do is so cute and funny and aren't they clever, but alas, I have become one of those people.

Yes, I happen to think that on the great cat spectrum of coolness, mine rank pretty high (at least Domino does; Molly ranks high on the pathetic and pitiable scale).

That being said, here is yet another tale of two kitties:

Over the weekend, spring fever was felt throughout the house. It began Saturday morning, when Molly, who is usually quite reserved, went psychotic over the blue plastic ring off the milk jug. Owen and Dom were snoozing away, and I had just gotten up and was making myself breakfast when I heard a high-pitched "Peeeeeeeeeep.... purrrrrrrrrrp..... purrpeepppp" coming from the living room. Thinking that Molly had gotten her leg caught on something or that her life was somehow in danger, I rushed to see what the commotion was. But she was merely tossing the milk ring around on the living room floor and then picking it up in her mouth, crying out to herself in apparent jubliation. This caused Dom to saunter, sleepy-eyed into the living room, as if to say, "What the hell is going on here?"

Later that day, we opened up the windows and the front door because it was so nice out. This excited both cats, who have forgotten the sounds and sights of the outside world over the winter. (Neither of them are allowed outside.) Dom perched himself in the kitchen window, which overlooks the front porch, while Molly gazed out the front door. The two of them marveled at... each other. Dom looked out the window at the front door and Molly looked out the front door at the kitchen window. Both had perfect dumbfounded expressions on their faces, as if they couldn't quite put the pieces together of how the other one was outside and they were not. I thought Dom might bust through the screen to try and get to Molly. The staring contest went on for several minutes while birds flew by, squirrels hopped right under their noses, and traffic passed.

Geniuses they are not, but they sure are entertaining!

A lesson in potty etiquette
For lack of anything better to blog about, I thought I'd take further opportunity to discuss toilet partitions, since I obviously did something to make the blogger banner god think that my readers would be interested in such a topic. You are, right?

Public restrooms are tricky. There are certain ones I won't even venture into. Bars are always a crap shoot. If I'm at a bar, I try not to use them. Inevitably the floors are sticky, for reasons unknown, and the walls are covered in uplifting graffiti, with messages such as "Janie is a slut!" Or "I love Rob M. 4ever!" If you're lucky, the lock on the toilet stall will be operational. Otherwise, you have to do the "sit forward, hold the door closed with one hand" maneuver.

McDonald's is another tricky one. Usually, if I'm contemplating using the McDonald's restroom, it's because I'm like millions of other Americans who do so when on long trips with no rest stops in sight. And only then, I'll go if I'm desperate.

In the restroom at work, if I'm in the stall, don't talk to me. It's just weird. It's weird when people talk between stalls. Talk to me at the sink, but don't try and ask me about postcards when I'm peeing. I'd appreciate those few seconds of semi-privacy, thank you. (And please, wash your hands. With soap. I'm always surprised how many people don't. And it's never who you expect. I witnessed an upper eschelon manager, on numerous occasions, do a cursory running of her hands under the faucet, but never use any soap. Thankfully she doesn't work here anymore, because it would always skeeve me out and I'd try and leave the restroom before her so I didn't have to touch the doorknob after her germ infested fingers gripped it.)

If the first stall is occupied, and there are four stalls total, which stall do you go to? I go to the third. Gotta keep a respectable distance. I think the same rule applies at urinals, but I'm not sure. The fourth stall is a handicapped stall, but for some reason, the only people I ever see using it are the really skinny people. I'm not sure what to make of that. Do you?

This concludes my thoughts on restrooms and toilet partitions. Although we'll probably be seeing those banners for some time to come now. Quick! Pick a topic!

Notify the proper authorities
People, I have a crisis on my hands. One of epic proportions, one that threatens to take over everything in sight.

It's a crocus crisis.

Our backyard is infested -- nay -- blanketed with crocuses. Some are there on purpose, planted last fall by my garden-friendly husband. The other 9,999,999 are rogue crocii that have nestled themselves within the blades of grass. And then invited all the crocus friends that they knew to come to hang out with them.

Last fall, when we were doing a bunch of digging and planting, we kept unearthing (literally) these little white bulbs. I fear these are the culprits of our crocus crisis.

If they are left unattended, they will surely take over the backyard, if not the entire house! They must be stopped!

Although, they sure are purty.

... And who doesn't?
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My alter ego
In real life, I am a very patient person. I have to be. I work with total idiots. Even when I'm internally calling you a jackass, on the outside I'm telling you that I think it's a wonderful idea to bring in your pet emu and create a series of postcards featuring your feathered friend.

But my dark side, my seedy underbelly, surfaces in one place only (other than this blog): my car.

Don't mess with me when I'm trying to get home from work. If you are driving the speed limit in the left lane, you're a jackass and I need to let you know by riding your ass and rolling my eyes at you and yelling "MOVE! MOOOOOOOOOOVE!!! Movemovemovemovemove!" I will even resort to passing you on the right if you do not cease and desist with being in my way.

If you are in front of me at a red light, and when the light turns green, it takes you more than a nanosecond to step on the gas, I will not hesitate to honk at you. Even though my car horn is more like a nonthreatening "Meeeeeeeeep."

If you are a truck, I hate you. You should not be on the same road with the rest of us. Do not attempt to pass me or it will infuriate me and my eyes will shoot laser beams at you.

If you are trying to merge, and there is no one behind me, and yet you speed up to get in front of me, I will wish a pox upon your family.

Braking, for no apparent reason, will get you a fine string of curse words that would make a sailor blush.

When did I develop this nasty driving etiquette? Rush hour. It can cause a nun to give someone the middle finger. At the end of the day, all I want to do is get home, and if you are in some way impeding my ability to do that, you are my sworn enemy. So look out for me tonight! I'll be the one firing thunderbolts through my windshield at unsuspecting drivers.

Gotta love him



He was totally doing this on purpose. And to Fantasia no less. He is my new hero.

Kind of freaky but kind of cute
Read about it here.

*cough*
You know what's kind of gross? When you get a delivery from someone who smokes and the papers reek of cigarette smoke. Don't get me wrong -- I used to smoke for several years. But now, it is really noticeable to me when people are smokers. I don't think you realize when you smoke how bad you smell. Your clothes stink. When you ride the elevator, the elevator stinks for minutes after you are gone. The stall in the restroom smells when you leave it.

I can't believe I ever smelled that bad, but I probably did.

I remember turning in an English paper in high school and when I gotten it back, my teacher had written, "This paper REEKS of cigarette smoke!"

Smoking also was the reason I got a Saturday suspension in high school. In my entire life, other than the time one of the nuns caught me passing notes in 8th grade (which is a whole other story for another time), this was the only time I've been in serious trouble at school. We were on an overnight trip to New York City. My friends and I had the brilliant idea to light up in our hotel room before we met up with our group to go to dinner. This meant that we had to open our hotel room window. We had been instructed by the nuns, that under no circumstances should we open the window in our hotel room. A few years prior, a high school student had been killed during a school trip -- he had fallen out of an open window in his hotel. So this was the major taboo at the time.

Anyhow. We're smoking out the window, and some friends of ours who were in a room down the hall were knocking loudly on the door and we told them to go away. A few minutes later, the loud knocking returned. "It's Sister Maria," the voice said. As some of us mean Catholic school girls were known to imitate Sr. Maria's voice, we countered with some smartass remark. The voice on the other side turned evil and we knew we were dead. "This IS Sister Maria, LET ME IN." Things went from bad to worse. Quickly extinguishing our cigarettes and throwing them out the window, we tried our best to air out the room before we let her in.

"Why is the window open?" were her first words. Then, "Were you smoking in here?"

Our Saturday suspension involved counting pennies from a Penny War between the grades. Manually. For hours.

Kids, this is why you shouldn't smoke!

Milestone
Yay for my 5000th visitor! Unfortunately, I think it was me. Oh well.

Which one of you got me sick? I know some of you have been hacking, sniffling, sneezing, horking... *raises eyebrow at lifeonhold and Green Tuna* All I know is I've got some serious nasal drippage happening. Your day is complete just knowing that, isn't it? I thought so.

Don't forget
Tonight, on an extra-special Wednesday episode of Survivor: All-Star, we're promised never before seen footage of Colby scratching his family jewels. Hey, I'm not kidding. Probst himself was talking about it this morning on the radio. Don't miss it!

Oh God no
Cojo's appearance on American Idol last night was nothing short of frightening. But scarier, even, was the theme for the night. They performed both kinds of music: country AND western. My least favorite genre, with the exception, perhaps, of polka.

LaToya is still looking strong, and I think George, also, is in it for the long haul. I was disappointed in my man Jon Peter, though, he was a little bit flat. Clay Aiken he is not. But I think that he's likeable enough that he'll have a chance to redeem himself next week. And who knew that Amy Adams was such a country crooner?

And I'll just go on record as saying that Ryan Seacrest has surpassed all previous levels of toolishness and has created his own plateau of toolitude. Way to go, Ry!

Just briefly
I've got a boatload of stuff to work on today, and I'm going out to lunch with my mom (first time we will be face-to-face since Christmas) so I don't know if I will be my usual blogging self today.

But I will report this: for those of you who enjoy the escapades of Domino, this morning a Halloween witch's hat and a fall leaf garland appeared in our bedroom. He's cycling through the seasons, I guess. The Christmas stocking, the gardening glove, the flag, and now the Halloween stuff. And the stocking is a permanent fixture in our bedroom now. We've given up on bringing it downstairs.

Other than that, things are status quo.
Bad Lady = extra pissy.
Incompetent but Likeable = still incompetent, but still likeable.

And Cheesecake Factory was good. I ate chocolate chip cookie dough cheesecake. It wasn't so much cheesecake as it was a giant wad of cookie dough with cheesecake around it. Good eatin's.

Yes, you probably will
Today marks the third business day in a row that I have dined at Wendy's. So when the Awesome Drive-Thru Granny says, "See you tomorrow, honey!" She's probably right.

Question: if you get a mandarin chicken salad at Wendy's, and you put all the crap on it (almonds, crunchy noodles, dressing), does it cease to be healthy? Just wondering.

Signs that it's going to be a bad week
1. Bad Lady is back. And she's tan. I did not miss her radio. Or her phone ringing constantly. Or her whining. Or anything.
2. I sat in traffic for 45 minutes this morning on the way in. Total travel time = 1 hour, 15 minutes.
3. My "to-do" list has 18 things on it. Not including the 11 unanswered e-mails in my inbox, all asking me for stuff, one dating back to Jan 28th.
4. The white stuff. Tons of it. Everywhere.
5. Tomorrow we find out how much $$ we owe the federal government. It's not going to be pretty.

Signs that it's going to be a good week
1. I'm dining at Cheesecake Factory tonight.
2. Yeah, that's pretty much it.

Someday
When I finally fulfill my dream of being in an 80's cover band, I will absolutely have to do the song "Tempted" by Squeeze. ("Tempted by the fruit of another...") I heard that song in a bar this weekend and found myself singing along, loudly, in the bathroom. And I don't drink.

Downloaded the song off I-Tunes and now I can sing at home, where the only ones who give me funny looks are the cats.

Our little protester
Last night, we arrived home from the Cavs game (yawn -- they lost) to find the latest item that Dom has fixated on from our basement: a full-sized American flag. He managed to drag the flag, plus the plastic case that was serving as flag storage, upstairs and into the living room. He then pulled the flag about halfway out of the case before abandoning it.

So, before we went to bed, Owen brought it downstairs. About 20 minutes later, I hear Dom in our room, dragging something around and pouncing on it.

This goes on for a few minutes before I get up to see what he's doing. There he is, laying on top of the flag, licking his nether regions.

I'm not sure what kind of political statement that is, but I'm pretty sure I have to burn the flag now. I don't think it's proper protocol to fly a flag that has been subject to a cat cleaning his privates on it, do you?