Loney Baloney! :)
Whoo, what a great game, man!
So, our (fictitious, in every way) son’s name has now become Maximilian (I preferred MaxWELL, but Curt has an exotic taste in names…), and his middle name is either going to be Byerley or Loney… ;)
Whoo, what a great game, man!
So, our (fictitious, in every way) son’s name has now become Maximilian (I preferred MaxWELL, but Curt has an exotic taste in names…), and his middle name is either going to be Byerley or Loney… ;)
Remember that cat – I call her Clementine – that the next door neighbors abandoned when they moved? Apparently she was pregnant. A few days ago I noticed she didn’t have her belly anymore, so yesterday morning I followed her to her nest. She’d built it in the bush on the fence growing between our apartment complex and the one next door.
Despite fierce opposition to the idea, Curt finally relented to letting me keep her in the apartment. “But,” he snapped, “it’s all you! I don’t want anything to do with it!”
A few minutes after I’d gone outside to reconnoiter, he came wandering out with a box padded with towels and fetched the kittens for me.
We brought them into the apartment with the mother, Curt giving me cross looks all the while. I teared up and explained that the ex-neighbors were assholes, and Clementine was so little and her ribs were showing and that I just wanted to give her and her kittens a chance to make up for the assholery of others. All true! This seemed to soften him a bit.
“What are we going to do here?” he asked. “There’s no way Monkey and George can sleep in here with us like this. And if we keep them outside, they’ll just scratch at the door all night long. There’s no WAY I’m putting up with all that noise.”
So then I said, “Hey, I know! Let’s pump up the air mattress and I can sleep out in the living room! That way Monkey and George won’t freak out because they’re still have one of us and Clementine and her kittens can have some peace and quiet!”
Then my husband turned his big cow eyes at me and said, “You mean we’d sleep in separate beds? We can’t do that…”
And that’s how my husband, the cat opposer, and I spent the night (and possibly the next few weeks) sleeping in the living room. :)
Work sounds particularly loathsome today. I can’t bike or run because my knee is sore from hiking. I don’t even have it in me to clean.
However, I am wearing orange pants. Orange pants trump all, I think. ;) Happy day!
This is a brilliant entry from Ai’s blog, which I am reproducing in its entirety (with the proper permissions):
(Psst…I am “G”!)
So some of you might remember my post about the vice cops busting the “day spa” in one of the office units in our building a while ago. Well, we just got permission from the owner to rent that unit so we got to take a look inside today. It’s, well, very brothel-y.
Security cameras and monitors galore (I would imagine to watch out for cops). Lots of small rooms with giant windows, rigged to hold curtains, and a “lobby” with a small, windowed hole in the wall to “screen” clients. Oh, and you can totally see the boot print on the door from the vice cop who broke down the door, busting the door jam FTW!!!
Me and G walk into one of the small empty rooms as B (our tour guide for this adventure) leaves.
me: “People used to have sex for money in here.”
[silence reigns]
G: [looks at me]
me: “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”
[We both start running out of the dark, unlit used-to-be brothel]
me: “Don’t leave us here in the dark!”
G: “Yeah, don’t want to be stuck here with the brothel ghosts.”
me: “Yeah, the ghosts of blowjobs past.”
So yeah, that’s the tour. :D
On my way to my car last night I righted an upside down snail. When I got home, I came across his squashed carcass, and felt a twinge of sadness.
I don’t want to touch snails, but I always feel so sorry for them, being slow and unable to run from danger. (I also harbor some residual guilt from my days as a childhood snail-salter. Oh god, I felt bad just typing that.) Then, the other day, I saw this snail:

…and I thought, “Oh no, it’s a deformed snail!”
Thus was my pity stirred, because here was a snail that was not only slow and unable to run from danger, but also handicapped!
Then I got to work, and saw that there were a whole colony of these same deformed snails in the bushes outside of our office. Turns out they are their own species called decollate snails. Wikipedia excitedly describes them as “PREDATORY LAND SNAILS”, as they hunt and feed upon the regular garden-variety snails.
In fact, you know those slimy little snail trails that normal snails leave behind? Wikipedia says that decollate snails use them to catch the scent of and track the normal snails. TO EAT THEM.
I don’t mind telling you I got a bit of a chill reading that.
Man pretending to fall off bridge actually falls.
/points and laughs
One time in high school we had to write a paper about heroes and everyone else wrote about people they knew or public figures, and I wrote about Eliot Ness because at the time I was obsessed with The Untouchables. ;)
ULTIMATE Ready Evac Kit – 4 PERSON.
Dude. Ai told me about this website called The Ready Store (www.thereadystore.com), and now I want it. It’s all I want. All I can think about. If Curt doesn’t want it, I’ll have to leave him.
;) Well, not really. I can put a lot of this together myself, but how awesome to have it all ready for you?
This may be both the awesomest and the stupidest thing I’ve ever bought.

(Not the girl, har har!)
I found this on Amazon.com late one night and thought it was the best $40.00 idea EVER, and so I bought it. I mean, I realize there is ample proof that it is a large stand-up tent, but I didn’t quite grasp the actual size of the thing. It’s ridiculously large and spacious, and completely awesome. See, we like to camp, and now I don’t have to be dirty when we camp!
It’s like you can almost SEE me turning 30, isn’t it? ;)
1. Tap her hole and drill her.
2. Become her master, he, whose rod can show her where heaven is.
3. It gives natural sexess
4. Secret message for special agents
5. Be wizard of her nights
6. Replace your pant snake with python