Special Sauce

A mish-mash of twisted thoughts from a fevered ego. Updated when the spirit moves me, contents vary and may have settled during shipping. Do not open towards eyes. Caution: Ingestion of Special Sauce may cause hair loss, halitosis, and a burning sensation while urinating.



It's official. I have a new favorite bar.
I can't believe it's taken this long to find it. Damnit. I mean, Hildy's will always be my first love when it comes to daytime drinking. It's small, cave-like, and lots of future liver-transplant recipients hang out there. But I think I may have a new mistress now, and she has Shuffle Bowling.

And a really good jukebox.

And while there is no Iron City (my cheapass beer of choice) PBR drafts are ridiculously inexpensive (and not available because college kids think it's "cool"). And plenty of fun signs (handmade) everywhere. ANNNND, you never know when someone's going to get a chair broken over their head.

Did I mention the shuffle bowling?

The last time I was in this bar was St. Patrick's day, about 4 years ago, as part of our "first annual, nearly got arrested for forming an illegal parade, Pub Crawl". By the time we got there, I was so drunk, I didn't remember much, except that's where some guy gave me his shamrock bandana. I was pleasantly surprised last night.

And the jukebox on random last night provided us with Bob Marley, Metallica, AC/DC, INXS, and other really good songs, so I am in lurrrrrve.

Actually we went to quite a few places last night that I haven't been to ever, or in a very long time. Was rather fun. I stopped before they went to the Dirty Old Tavern, though. I wanted to go, but had to do crafts this morning. Apparently, the Dirty Old Tavern is available for wedding receptions and banquets too. So someday, if ODB gets married, he can have the reception at the Dirty Old Tavern. Next time I go out I'll give it a whirl, and see if it IS as dirty as they say...

In Cat News... Evil is still a bit sniffly/congested, but eating. If she's not feeling better by Monday, to the vet she goes, I'm sure. (After all, what's a week if I'm not at the vet? Evil loves it so...) Off to enjoy the rainy saturday, and continue working on THIS in a neat 2-tone twisted together red thread. (I'm a fast/decent crochet-er, but only like it for purses and some caps & doilies. Sweaters in crochet kinda freak me out some. I may break down and pick up the "hip to crochet" book. It's a little easier on my wrists than knitting.)


Stop the music!

I touched on this before, but damned if I didn't hear "Abraham, Martin, & John" on the radio this afternoon (before I got home, but after my weekly stop-in at the vet's office).

I haven't heard this song in years, but every time I do, something dies.

No, I'm not joking. Not exaggerating. First time I heard it, the next day, my cat squeaker got hit by a car.

Time after that? 5 of my cats got shot by my douchebag asshole landlord. (Long story. Karma's a bitch, though. His dog got hit by a car a few weeks later. No. It wasn't my car.)

Next time? Our cat, Pock, got hit by a car.

After that? A friend died in a car accident.

Those are specific incidents I can remember, but I know there were others.

So, understandably, every time I hear that song, I start to massively freak out. I couldn't throw down the spools of ribbon I was looking at, and scream "OHSHITCANYOUPLEASETURNTHERADIOOFF!!! and dive under the nearest fabric table, hug my knees, and start rocking back and forth, but I really, really wanted to.

However, I am happy to report that Evil is fine. Sneezing, but OK. I stopped in to pick up more prednisone for her today, so we're good for another 10 days or so.

One year ago

Today, as a matter of fact, I returned to PA from Key West. I know. I'm on drugs.

I left on the 27th, fled at about 4:00 AM, crying my eyes out, because as much as the place drove me nuts, I knew I was going to miss it, and my friends. I'm kind of glad I left in the dark, because seeing that water at sunrise would have probably killed me. Seriously, the water around the island is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. The day before, I had finished packing the last of my possessions in the car. The ones that would fit, anyway. I shipped a lot of stuff beforehand, and what wouldn't fit (pillows, bookcases, bed, TV) stayed behind.

I drove until 8:00 that night, stopping only to get gas, and pee (though not usually at the same time). I ended up finally crossing the Florida border at 3:30, and wound up in Lumberton, NC. And let me tell you, that Holiday Inn, with it's in-house Denny's, hot shower, and ridiculously squishy bed, was so. Fucking. Awesome. Never before has a shower felt so good.

Of course, on the way up, when I'd stop for gass, I had noticed a little squeaking in my brakes. Ok, more like a scraping. But I figured it was OK. It went away, and didn't worry me on the highway.

Then I got to Washington, D.C. Where it was raining.

You should know that I loathe the beltway, and highways that are much more than 4 lanes. Zipping down I-95 is fine, so long as I don't have to freak out about 18 million exits. But put me in a car with failing brakes, in the rain, on the beltway? I white-knuckled it the entire way through, with the same Beastie Boys tape (check your head) playing over and over and over, because I wasn't taking my hand off the wheel or my eyes off the road for a second, because I didn't want to get lost.

Did I mention that my inspection was expired over a year? And my registration was about to expire? I kept my PA plates in FL (also a no-no), and kept the registration address as my parents house. Couldn't get a PA inspection if the car wasn't there... so...

Heh. Yeah. So lets recap. Bad brakes, Expired Inspection. Rain. It didn't get really bad until I got off the highway in my town. And hit every red light on the way home. With this godawful *SKARRUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNCHHHHHH!!!!* noise every time I came to a complete stop. Once I got a hug, I got a smack upside the head for letting my brakes go so long (desperation, I assure you. I didn't want to wait in DC for 4 hours till my dad showed up with the car trailer. I wanted to. Be. HOME. Damnit.). Which, of course, I paid for the next day when we got the car inspected, and had to replace the brakes, but trust me... it was worth it.

More about Florida, and stuff, later on. Tonight, however, calls for a drink.


I'm so slick...

...they should change my middle name to "Astroglide".

(Side note: When I worked for the pharmacy, we used to carry a lube that looked like a big camoflauge dildo. Can't remember the name of it, but that cracked me up every time I saw it.)

Why am I so slick?

Because I just had "the talk" with Bosslady. No, she didn't tell me about the birds & bees and penis-shaped lube, but that we're out of money. I knew that was coming. I was prepared. When she said the accountants (whom I dislike very much anyway, because they're condescending weenies) said to just fire me outright 2 weeks ago, I knew my plan would be perfect.

What was my plan, you ask?

To re-sign with the local temp agencies, make 2-4$/hour more than I do now, on "short term assignments". (And by "short term" I mean temp-to-perm.)I'll give her one night/week, and/or one Saturday to do the parts of my job that can't be done well by volunteers. (And very little of my job cannot be done by volunteers. If they're not computer savvy, it'll be Data entry for me. Woot.) Bonus? Work I do for Bosslady from here on will be on a need-to-know basis with Uncle Sam. If I make less than 600 bucks, he don't need to know. (And trust me, I doubt I'll make more than 600 bucks. Because I have a goal. That goal is to be working somewhere else, with a schedule that doesn't permit much, if any, work with Bosslady.)

And Bosslady? LOVES my plan. Adores my plan. Is absolutely relieved that I have said plan. So we'll work out the details tomorrow, and I'll write up my famous "This is how we do my job" manual. (I think I've done one of those for 3 of the past 5 jobs I've been at.) I'm figuring a week to tie up loose ends, and then... poof!

Life, is damned good.

And Evil says Myaah! To you all. (How the little beastie keeps getting on here, I have no idea. She doesn't strike me as being that nimble.)


Booky Goodness!

Aaaagh! I love the book sale! I quite possibly want to marry the overlook book sale, without all of the snitty people that attend it. I am now the proud owner of the following:

6 Agatha Christie mysteries (Hercule Poirot ones, because I do so love that dashing Belgian, and ok, I have this thing for David Suchet. Sundays on the Bio channel... it's like crack.)

2 Peg Bracken books. I got I Hate to Housekeep and I'm Trying to Be Good today, and have the two I Hate To Cook books. I like her style, and I love the illustrations.

A handful of odd, old cookbooks, including 1 church cookbook, 1 cookbook on raisins (no, I don't know why either, raisins are pretty much revolting unless they're in oatmeal cookies. It was 50 cents. I couldn't stop myself), one really old casserole cookbook (with a cover so vile, the contents can't help but be amusing), an old skool Pilsbury Bake-off cookbook (my grandmother used to collect them, and I have a few of hers), a book for using your new fancy schmancy electric range (with another revolting cover)a Crisco cookbook from the late '50s/early '60s, and the General Foods CookBook from the early 60s.

I also snagged The Miss Manners Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behavior. I love me some Miss Manners, a book on flower arranging, 2 books on how to keep your kids occupied (similar to books of my mom's that I pored over as a kid, which meant I was never, EVER bored. I think they may be handy for doing crafts at the codger corral), and a few other things that escape me at the moment. Including the cash I gave to the library itself, I walked out with a box full of books for $30.00. I can't walk out of Borders, on a cheapass day for less than $30.00. WOO. Hoo.

Now I have reading material for... a few weeks. Heh.

Which is good, because I think I'm getting the "We're out of money" speech at work. Which is fine. Means I can go get a full time job without guilt, and maybe put in a few hours a week part-time for bosslady. Or... not. Heh.


So, it's been a while since I've hacked mom's blogger account. Just wanted to tell you all that I've missed you. Thanks again for thinking about me. Also, if you can mention to mom that the next time she makes me get in that damned carrier, and drive the whole way to lower bumfuck Egypt, I am going to pee all over every pair of shoes she owns. I don't do drives.

On the upside, I'm getting that turkey food twice a day now. It's a little gritty, so I don't know what processor was workin' that, but... whatever. Mom says it's flaxseed oil, and something she calls "the cream". It's making me feel stronger, and I may try out for the Pirates, if this keeps up. (And yeah, I know Steroid humor is passe, but I'm a cat. Lighten the fuck up, will ya?)

Anyway, mom was all mopey this weekend, and sniffling a lot. We both seem to be doing a lot better now. Thanks for the love. You're all even better than new catnip treats, nose skritches, and laundry to pee on.

7 lives?

I think Evil's on life 7 or 8 by now- I've got quite the tenacious little (ok, hulking, even now) furball.

The prednisone and positive thoughts, are helping immensely. The cutaneous "thing" is markedly smaller, as is the "easter egg" in/on her lymph node. She's been pretty quiet, and hasn't left my room, but she skritches, and scoots across the floor when you pet her, and has been perching in the window to watch (and attempt to bite) the birdies...

In other news:
Today's the day I get to go to the gigunda library book sale, and I am fairly all atwitter. It's like free sample day at the local crack dealer's. Yesterday was the opening day (50th anniversary opening day, at that!) and there were over 350 people waiting outside when the doors were finally opened. Today will be a little calmer, I hope. Tomorrow, however, is when the best bargains are to be had. (the selection is slightly diminished but the prices make up for it) Books for 2.00/yard, or 2.00/grocery bag. When I'll be there today, it'll probably still be 2.00/hardback & trade paper, 1.00 mass markets. Still, not a bad deal. Tomorrow morning they'll be half that, and tomorrow night, the bag/yard prices. Can't wait!

Also, finally figured out this weekend's craft at the Codger Corral. We'll be making May Day baskets. We'll recycle tin cans for the base of the basket, and attach a ribbon handle, then fill them with flowers. (Most likely artificial, unless I get a great deal on real ones)I'll do most of the prep, put the hoops on for the handles, pre-cut the paper for the outsides, and insert the foam, but they'll do the covering, arranging, and presentation. I think they'll enjoy that, and it'll be neat to see them scurrying around on Sunday morning, leaving the baskets on doorhandles.

I recommend hitting ET's site, and read all about the PUF this weekend. It is damned interesting, and you will learn things.


Can I get some of that?

So, we had a very trying weekend.

Sure, it started out normal enough. Evil kept me awake all of Friday night, then I cleaned bathrooms all day Saturday. Then I got home, and was communing with the fuzzball when she had a big whonkin' seizure. I can't really describe it, but it scared the shit out of me, and lasted long enough for me to run to the kitchen, find the phonebook, try to call my vet, find out he's not in, and get back to the living room with the number for the emergency clinic.

For the record, the women at the emergency clinic are saints. I love them. I love them with all of my black, atrophied little heart. Evil, by this point, was pretty much fine, but supremely pissed that she had to ride the whole way downtown. I was still pretty freaked out. They calmed us both down, and were very caring. Dr. Leslie did break it to me that the seizure was most likely caused by the cancer spreading to her brain, or pressing on nerves. So, that's not so good. We also found some more bumps on her skin. That's also not so good.

We ended up drafting a game plan, involving giving her valium, prednisone, and cimetadine in the office (which she hated, and had to have 2 techs hold her down for shots- the most cranky I've ever seen her at the vet's), but she was quite calm for the ride home. Unfortunately, they wouldn't give me any valium. Believe me, I asked. Basically, though, they told me to prepare for the worst. She might have more seizures this weekend, and the prednisone isn't a permanent fix, but would buy me time through the weekend. And Saturday night I was up 4 times in the night to clean up puke, but by Sunday morning, she seemed to be much better. Quiet, but OK.

She spend almost all of Sunday on her perch in my room, looking out the window, and even let me sleep all night. This morning she's really pretty good. So, that's a good thing. Practically normal even. She's eating, and Myaah!-ing, and hasn't thrown up in 24 hours, so when I called for the follow up this morning, Doc Haver said to not worry about bringing her in today, but to just keep giving him daily updates.

So now I'm going out to get some more prevacid & turkey baby food, and go from there. Thanks for the love, and the crossed fingers. Things were looking exceptionally dire this weekend, but are a bit brighter now.


Happy R.

Among other things, I have given up on Bawlmurr.

Lesson Learned: Do not fall into like with really cute, sweet, funny boys from towns many miles away, especially ones who have schedules that don't mesh with yours. Because as much fun as it is at first, it's not going to last. It won't be anyone's fault, but it'll still feel stupid. You'll also wonder where really, really cute, really, really nice Rugby Mike ever went, because you knew he was heading to PA possibly, after he left the keys. (And get all misty when you see Bobby Flay, because Rugby Mike looks an awful lot like him, but bigger, and isn't a flaming dickweed.) And remember that you probably were really stupid, because you liked him way more than you let on, because you didn't want to step all over a good thing. (And then you'll see the correlation, and realize that you just suck at this shit.)

In other news I am in desperate need of a salt lick, a bottle of V-8, and a large bag of Cape Cod salt & vinegar potato chips and a few packets of soy sauce. What do I have in the office? Peach yogurt, diet cherry coke, and a packet of cottage cheese. Arrrrgh!

Thank Elvis I am hitting happy hour with Stoltzfus and G Monkey today. Salt, junk food, booze, and a lot of laughter are a few of my favorite things...


But that's mean!

I'll warn you. I'm in a bad mood.

I've begun to see the whole "I don't like what you've said/written/produced, stop it or I'm going to whine/cry/call my mom/call my lawyer/bring down the government on you" culture rearing its hideous head more frequently lately, and it's royally torquing me. Especially when it's all "It's for the chilllllllldddddreeeeennnnnnnnnnnnnn"


Lets go over it one more time people.

I'm not entirely unsympathetic, but guess what. You're a parent now. Congratulations. That tax deduction comes with responsibilities. It means you have to monitor what they're watching/doing/listening to. It means that instead of buying a sanitized movie, you make them watch what's appropriate for their age group. It means that instead of plunking them down in front of the TV or computer, you watch with them. You surf with them. You monitor what they're doing. If your kid drinks a mouthful of head & shoulders because you weren't watching them, you don't blame Proctor & Gamble because their shampoo isn't in childproof containers, you blame your ass for not paying attention.

And, as other people have said it before, kids are remarkably resilient, and if you instill the vaues you WANT to instill in them, even if they do come across the occasional swear word, boobies, or metaphorical mouthful of Head & Shoulders, they're not going to immediately turn into drug-addicted nymphomaniacs. Case in point. My mother threatened to beat me within an inch of my life with a vacuum cleaner if she ever caught me smoking. (Never mind that both my parents smoked on and off.) To this day, I've never smoked a cigarette. (Now the joint I smoked on New Year's Day a few years back... that I was pretty sure her radar picked that up even 1,500 miles away, but hey.)

Sure, my parents fucked up in a lot of ways, but they did their job. They didn't write to congress to tell them to take the Incredible Hulk off the air, because it scared the shit out of me. They just didn't let me watch it. And when I spent 90% of my early teen years reading every Stephen King book I could get my mitts on, they didn't worry that I was going to turn into a satanist, and demand that the publishers edit Mr. King's books, they were just glad I was in my room and shutting up.

That's why the PTC and their unholy union with the FCC really irritates me. Instead of spending all of your time writing letters to the FCC to bitch about a show, here's a novel idea- change the damn channel. Or, if you watch it with your precious little snowflake, explain things. "Oh, we don't use that word because it's not polite." "That man just hit the other man, why do we know that's wrong?" Make the episode into a learning experience, instead of insisting the government make everything safe "for the chillllllllldreeeeeeeennnnnnnnnn!!!"

Am I out of line? Am I forgetting something? Discuss. I am going to go dance about the office, as "Looking out my back door" is on.

Consumer Whore!

Yesterday was a spendyday, capping off a spendyweek. (not excessive, but more than usual.)

First stop was CD warehouse, where I picked up the Allman Brothers Anthology for ridiculously cheap. Now I can enjoy guitar-filled goodness at work. (And pretend they're saying the right name when they sing "Sweet Melissa".) Mmm.
(Something about springtime makes me want to listen to older stuff, not sure why. Doesn't mean I'm not still pimpin' the Egg Radio- I'm just alternating.)

Also snagged a CCR album, for the express purpose of dancing around my office as I sing along to Looking Out My Back Door and dance around my office like a foo'.

And for good measure, picked up a copy of the new Laurie Notaro book We Thought You'd Be Prettier, Bitch and a National Geographic (It's all about poison!)

And, if that weren't enough, my copy of Cadillac Ranch came in from half.com. I do love Tim Dorsey. He's a sick bastard, and picks up the ball where Carl Hiaasen drops it, and takes it past the goalposts, out into the parking lot, gets into an acela train, and promptly gets off in the land of wrong, where he just happens to be mayor. Much. Much love for Dorsey. I actually met him once, at the Walden's in Key West. (He was friends with Rooooooooob, who was an AM there.)

All this to say that I am in hip deep in great stuff to read and listen to (ah, Whipping Post is on right now.)

Helping Maa out this weekend, they're short a housekeeper at the codger corral (and in other news, the sky is blue, water is wet, and we require oxygen to sustain human life). So I get to go in stealth mode (jeans and a white t-shirt, instead of uniform, because my ass isn't buying khaki pants and a polo for ONE day's work), clean bathrooms for weekend pay, and still be done by arond 3:00. Good deal.

And related to absolutely nothing else- The folks at Natures Gate Organics, makers of the BEST LOTION EVER are now making lip balm in the same "flavors". If you can find it locally, I highly recommend picking up either, or both. The balm's not as good as Burts Bees, but then again, nothing really is.


My Mother, the Smartypants

So, tonight's surprise was that the cake maa ordered for papa sauce was decorated in a boat theme. Fisherman, boat, shark... all normal, except for the bait on the hook. Which looked like a penis, complete with scrotum. And a happy face.

This was a decal from the mennonite-y bakery, so I doubt it was on purpose, but damned if it wasn't the first thing you paid attention to on the cake.

So, with that in mind, I present the two stories I love most about my Maa. One, I may have told before, so bear with me.

When I was a wee tot, and my brother was freshly minted, my maa stayed home with us. Papa Sauce drove truck, and would be gone overnight a few times a week. Well, one night, Papa sauce came home after a run. He'd been gone for a few days, the house was in disarray, probably one of us had been sick, or demonic, or perhaps both. We had finally been put to bed, and Maa was finally getting the chance to clean up a bit. She happened to be vacuuming when Papa Sauce came in. After the usual pleasantries, he somehow comes out with "Well, what did YOU do all day?" as he's looking about the untidy house. This causes my mother to snap.

(It's important for me to note here that my mother weighs all of MAYBE 105, soaking wet. Always has. Probably always will.)

This is the early eighties. My mom's using a big-assed hoover upright. She is pissed. She picks the thing up, and whacks my father with it. She then elucidates that she has spent the entire day trekking after his demon spawn, and he'd better haul in his lip. (or words to that effect)

Moral of the story? Do NOT piss my mother off. (especially when vacuuming)

Story the second. This may be apocryphal, but I don't doubt that it COULD have happened. (You have to know my mother.)

A little back story here- this took place in the '70s, when the store paging systems were on sort of microphones at the individual registers. Within fairly easy reach.

Maa and Papa Sauce are at the local Shop and Save, picking up groceries. They get to the checkout line, and Maa notices that Papa Sauce's fly's down. The following conversation ensues:

Maa: Your fly's down.
PS: huh?
Maa: Yoooourrrr flyyyyyyy's doooooooown.
PS: What?
Maa: Your FLY is DOWN.
PS: I still can't hear you.
At this point, Maa grabs the intercom microphone, presses the button for "page the entire store" and says "YOUUUUUUUUUUURRRR FLLLLLLLLLLLLLYYYYYYYYYYYY ISSSSSSSSSSSS DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!"

Papa Sauce quickly zipped up, and they paid and left.

Moral of the story? Well, none, really. It's just funny.

And they wonder why I am the way I am...

Happy Birthday Papa Sauce!

Despite your crusty exterior, and the fact that you could talk the varnish off a table, you're a pretty swell guy. I know you'll deny it, and that's cool. Some days, I deny it too. (I mean, NOBODY should be singing Okie from Muskogee at 6 AM. NOBODY.)

We drive each other insane, mostly because we're so alike it's scary. Who do you think I learned to be so stubborn from? Comes in handy in the battle of wills. And as obnoxious as I get, you know I still stick up for you when Maa gets on your case (and vice versa). And I know that no matter how assy you're acting, if I told you someone was giving me a hard time, you'd be out there in an instant, nostrils flaring, and fingers twitching to snap a collarbone.

I like that.

We don't do that whole "hugging" thing, but *poke* *poke* Happy Birthday.

(And I realize I didn't do the big post like this for my mom, whose birthday was the 5th. So I present it belatedly here.

Maa, we're even more alike than Dad & I are. From making the same snarky comment at the same exact time, to the fact that you can still make me laugh, hard, for minutes at a time with the following exchange:
(man) "Why hey, you're a smart feller!"
(mom) "Better'n a fart smeller!"

And it's rather nice that you're omniscent. Except for the definition of "Mogul". Which I will not let you forget. Sixth grade, baby. Sixth grade. You're also better than any doctor at figuring out what's wrong with someone. And even though we share a dislike of actually going to the doctor's office, we'll force each other. And you know too, that if anyone tries to shaft you, I'll gladly go "attack dog" on them, and get you what you need. I still want to beat the crap out of your surgeon, and that's been 2 years now. I might still do it.

Thanks both of you for giving me your personalities, and your outlook. And even if things didn't turn out quite the way you had hoped, I hope I do still give you reason to be proud on a semi-regular basis. You do for me, that's for sure.

(Nope, that's just pollen in my eye.)


When Christopher Walken Attacks

I'm hunting through the Rhode Island Novelty catalog (think Oriental Trading Company, but not as much fun) for this upcoming event we're having. We need geegaws for a salon opening. (And yes, I get paid for this! It makes up for the other ridiculous stuff I put up with.) I'm bopping through here, and what do I find but the section with noisemakers.

The headline in the cowbell section?


Ok, maybe I just like the quasi-obscure, goofy SNL references. But c'mon. That? Is funny.

(Assuming you saw the sketch, and all.)

I hereby demand more Christopher Walken in my reading material.

Who knew?

Who knew Evil could type so well? I always knew she was a smart kitty. I suppose this means I have to change my blogger password, or give her her own blog now, right? Heh. Of course, if she was really smart, she'd stop eating the dry cat food, because it makes her puke.

So now Silent Bob's sneezing, and I'm thinking I should just have a standing appointment with the Vet. Say Mondays, around 10:00? Would work for us. I'm going to give her another day to see if she doesn't improve, before calling to see if I can't just stock up on Amoxicillin. Because, jeez...

Saturday's trip to the Drive-In was good, though the movies were kinda dumb. (No shock.) Saw Amityville Horror and the Ring II. Neither was particularly scary, unless you count the hypodermic needle scene in RII. (And I do, because damn, do I hate needles.) Otherwise, meh. The male lead in Amityville was super creepy, mostly because I believe his torso somewhere has a "Mattel" stamp.

Otherwise, quiet weekend, quiet morning. Life... is good.


Evil here-

Hi everyone-

Just wanted to say thanks to you all for thinking about me. After all, the world does revolve around me. Or it should, anyway. Anyway. Mom thinks I'm just over here rustling papers, and has no idea I actually taught myself to type. She's almost asleep anyway.

Speaking of sleep. She keeps taking me to the vet, and it's cutting down on my paper rustling, kleenex chewing, and intensive sleep schedule. Being in the office isn't bad, even though the loud guy always pokes at my belly. I hate the drive over though. I like being inside the house. Or in the window. But not in the car. Not outside. I'm not sure why she keeps taking me there. Usually I get some kind of weird junk squirted in my mouth for weeks after I go. Blech. At least I get the good cat food when she does that. Now if she'd only get me a mousie to eat. That's what I'm hungry for.

I wasn't feeling good on Thursday, not even an mousie would have helped. Mom got really weird that night, and I had to go to the loud guy again the next day. No squirty stuff this time though. Now she keep smearing this weird fishy stuff on my feet. Tastes ok though. I also got this neat food, but the stupid DOG keeps eating it. I'd whack him, but it's not worth the effort. I just wish he'd stay off the bed, that is MY space. I peed on his rug, just to show him who's boss.

Today I'm feeling better. I sat on my perch in mom's room, and watched the birds from the window most of the day, and played with the new toy mom brought home. Catnip rules! The thing on my side still feels kind of funny, but it doesn't bother me much. I'd better wrap this up, or else she's going to get suspicious. She was at the drive in tonight, so she's really tired- I can get away with some stuff, but too long over here and she'll wonder. So thanks everybody for thinking about me, and hoping I'd feel better. Mom tells me you're all really good people, and I bet you're the kind of people who would skritch my chin, and the top of my nose if I wanted you to, and those are the best kind of people of all. I'd scoot across the floor for all of you, and even let you touch my belly (but not too hard, or I'll have to tear your hands off. Nothing personal.)

Talk to you soon-



Evil has a vet appointment at 10:30 this morning. She's still throwing up about an hour or two after she eats. It may be the tumor in her abdomen disrupting her gastrointestinal tract in some way.

More as I know it.

ETA- here's the more. We had a good visit, in fact Evil was calmer than I was, wanting to explore the place, and was a totally compliant fuzzball. She chilled out on the table while the vet racked his brain thinking of what to do now. So... she's home, and gets to eat baby food this weekend, and Pepcid AC, and petromalt. Yum! They even gave me a discount today, probably because it's the third time I've been in to the office in what, a week and a half? So, I'm going to stick around today, and keep an eye on her. Will update Doc Haver on Monday, and the next step is children's benadryl. (Which makes sense, because these tumors release histamine.)

Anyway, crisis averted. Temporarily.


Danger, Special Sauce! Danger!

Well, I'm getting the Danger signal from everyone, so tomorrow morning I will tell Bosslady that the negotiations did not turn out so well, and we will have to return to the plan B, using the empty office space in her old building until it is leased. This could be 3 weeks, it could be 3 months- but running a skeleton office out of there will be immensely better than running a skeleton office out of my house.

(Because it's bad enough the only people I ever see are bosslady, her aide, and one of her daughters. If I worked out of my house I'd see... the cats. I rarely leave the house as it is, aside from work.)

Supposedly she's got another possiblity lined up but won't be able to talk to the person for a few weeks (unsure what that's all about- I know who she's talking about, and... well... maybe she's just not phrasing it to me well.)

And the cherry on top of it all? Evil's throwing up. Frequently. At least twice today, usually partially undigested kibble/wet food. She's still perky, alert, and being her usual evil self, but I don't like the way she's not keeping things down. I will call the vet tomorrow morning to see if there's anything we can do about the puking. Maybe she'd keep liquids down better. I really, really hope so.

I'll keep you posted.

Oh, sure...

So yes, my office is moving*.

Into my house.

*Not if my family has anything to say about it.

More details to follow.

The Little Nonprofit that Could (still haunt me)

Jaisus. Just when I think it's over, it comes back. On my desk this morning, an invoice from The Little Nonprofit That Could (drive me to put a knitting needle into my eyesocket). What was this invoice for, pray tell? Advertisements in the journal from Fall '03/Spring /'04. Advertisements that were paid for in May of '04. How do I know? Because bosslady produced a check, which was, oddly enough, endorsed to TLNPTC(dmtpknime) in my handwriting, deposited on May 5, 2004. (funny to me, because that was like, my first week at that job.)

So I got to tell former bosslady to suck rocks, with a copy of the check. In a polite way, of course. Not like I wrote

"Dear Crazy-ass Bitch,
Check your files, 'cuz this shit's paid.
Special Sauce
Assistant Director
Mah Nonprofit"

(Ok, so I did make sure to put in the AD thing, because I know it irritates her, since I was "just her secretary" at the other place, except, you know, doing AD work for G. Monkey, who did Exec D. work)

So anyway, what I was saying in the comments before it got too long- I could try to get an EEOC case with current bosslady, but nothing was ever in writing, and my only witness to the discussion re: insurance during the "interview" was G. Monkey. It totally looks like a she-said/she-said sort of thing. Plus, I'm the only employee, so it's not like there's a precedent.

It's frustrating, because I really would like to see this work. The concept is good, but I've done everything can do with what I have, and short of standing directly behind bosslady with a pointy stick, while saying "How's the business plan coming?" *poke* "How's the business plan coming?" *poke* "Where's the board of directors?" *poke*, I don't think that stuff will improve. And despite the amount of bitching I do, the gig is pretty cushy (Ok, excepting the pay and the lack of insurance).

I just really don't want this to turn into another example of the Little Nonprofit That Could (cause me to lose my sanity). G. Monkey was there for 4 years, and tried, (oh, how she tried) to get the structure in place that they so desperately needed. No dice. I've been here for almost six months, and while I've gotten a lot accomplished, It's nowhere NEAR where things should be, because I get thwarted (either overtly or covertly). Honestly, we should have a board by now. And I was led to believe that the Business Plan was almost completed before I signed on.

And mabe that's the point. Maybe this is happening so there's an excuse for this to die. Someone that the blame can be foisted on. I wasn't good enough, so the project failed. It's a convenient way for her to get out of this, without losing face. Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me. This place will NOT last if there's not someone doing this job, and I don't know how other people would do this for a stranger. (I came on because I knew about her from someone else, who neglected to inform me, bitch craaaazy.) Bosslady's strength is her passion- get her in a room with someone, and ask for funds, and they can't help but say yes. But who's going to give a ton of money to a nonprofit without a board of directors, or even a business plan? Without oversight, who's to say that the donation won't go to hookers and blow? Without a board, employee policies are whatever the whim of the day is. Without a board, nobody's accountable. *sigh*

Part of why I like working with nonprofits so much, despite the absolutely batshit crazy bosses I seem to get, is that my work is actually doing someone, somewhere, some good. I'm not existing merely to line somebody's pockets. I can make a difference. I like that. Makes me feel like I'm not a total shitheel.

The codger corral may need another administrator (due to some really sad, really unfortunate shit happening), and despite the fact that I think the owner is the biggest asshole that ever walked the face of the planet, I'm thinking I may put a bug in their ear that I'd be interested. It'd be doing part of the job I used to do for them- more of the medical end of it- tracking med changes, keeping the nurses/aides on track, helping the house doctor and podiatrist, and that sort of thing. (I used to do that, and HR stuff, and admissions too) I like the residents, already volunteer there anyway, and (heh) I'd get to work with my mom (hee!) and the really swell Administrator again. Plus, they pay their admins half decently, and have health insurance.

Who knows. This was long, and rambly, and whiny. But the good news is that the stabbity pain above my right eye is gone, and I no longer feel like killing someone. Always a bonus.


CC Rider? Not even.

Dear Bosslady,

Either you want me to "take ownership", or you "want me to CC you on everything". One or the other. Not both. Either you trust me enough to send an email by myself, and allow me to function as an adult human being, or I have to call you every time I need to pee.

Do not let my lack of a college edjumakayshin fool you. I am not a moron. I do not send out emails stating "We suck. We have no structure. Do not give us money." I don't care how valid the statements might be. I have never once represented this organization as anything less than the stellar place it will be to anyone I have had business dealings with. This blog aside, I would never consider behaving in a manner that was less than 100% professional with someone I have a business relationship with. I have never given you any reason to doubt this, and to be honest, I resent the implication that I have.

I would take this "cc me on everything" a bit better if you would do the same, so I can also be in the loop. I have no clue what you do on a daily basis. For all I know you're taking pure adrenachrome and running around your house naked, screaming that the giant snakes are going to get you. (I know that's what I would be doing.) Your 57,291,194 phone calls a day are simply chances for you to give me tasks. I still don't know what happened in last week's meetings, much less yesterday's, or even if I'll be in this office a week from today. Not exactly confidence inspiring.

In conclusion, communication is indeed a two-way street, and frankly, it's been going one-way for far, far too long. I allow you to blow me off, give me information only when it benefits you or at the very last possible second, and make me feel like a twit when I neglect to cc you on something piddly. This has to stop. I want this to work, but I need you to work with me. Otherwise, I could be making 2-4 bucks an hour more as a temp, for a lot less hassle. (And don't think that I haven't considered it, but I'm a sucker for a good cause.)


Special Sauce

CC:Kissthis O'hkay.

P.S. As of May 1, I'll have been here 6 months. I mentioned it 4 months ago, and again 3 months ago- I put a reminder in your palm pilot 2 1/2 months ago. So I want to know... where the fuck is my health insurance?

I know I keep going on about it

But there are few things more beautiful than a northeastern spring after a long-ass winter. Every day brings some new marvel, a bit more green in the grass, the tiniest leaves on the willow trees, magnolias in bloom...

The view from my office window is a stunning mix of greens- from palest bottle green to deep forest and all shades in between, pink, orange, and deep brown. It definitely has a calming effect. In fact, damn if I don't want to go frolic outside and play in the tulips & dandelions.

Still no word if the office is moving, no word at all from Boss, really.
I cleaned everything up today anyway, just in case. Not that it would take much to move 98% of the stuff here. I have a desk, filing cabinet & computer. One pickup truck would be sufficient, and we'd have room to spare. Getting it down the world's narrowest spiral staircase... that will be the interesting thing.



Egg Radio is playing Cartman, singing Come Sail Away and all I can think of is Stephranger.


AND my office is overrun by spiders. They're all over the ceiling. Above my head.

Above my HEAD.

Can I go home now? Seriously?

I am not afraid of many things (well, other than the shit I come up with in my mind). Mice? Do not freak me out. That's what cats are for. Snakes? I'd rather not encounter them in the wild, but if someone has one as a pet I'll touch it if offered. Scorpions? They lived under my washer in FL. Creeped me out, but I still had to do laundry so... put some shoes on. Termite Swarms? Icky, but tolerable. The dark? I dread that more than fear it.

Spiders? Scare the shit out of me. Seriously. One was on the dining room chair last night, and there was NO WAY I was moving, or getting anywhere near that thing to kill it. It was a jumping spider too. ::shudder:: Walking into spiderwebs? Guaranteed to make me squick out. Having them on my ceiling? Lovely. Now I'll be hyperactively monitoring their movements, and freaking out every time I have an itch.


ETA: one of the spiders disappeared while I was at Staples. The other is now directly over my head. Joy. And while I was out, I found (and bought) a copy of "How To Deal With People You Can't Stand". We'll see if it helps. Heh.


Trading Spaces?

Enh, I always thought Changing Rooms was better, but that's a discussion for another time.

Apparently, Bosslady may have found an office space for me, and I could very well be moving by the end of the week. Crazy. I'm actually sort of looking forward to this- being out of the cabana, and working in a building where there are actual (:gasp:) people! I am looking forward to having a place to plug in a coffeemaker, stash my yogurt & diet Dr. Pepper supply, and prominently display my Bob's Big Boy bobblehead.

Schnikeys, I won't know how to act.

You'll know when I know.

In other news, there really isn't much other news. I am still sunburned and covered in apple green paint. I will show off this look tomorrow at work, when I wear my brand-spankin'-new Girl's Bike Club shirt. Evil is holding up, and let me sleep in my own bed till 3:30 this morning. Silent Bob was none-too-silent on the way to the vet's and back, but was well behaved otherwise. And unfortunately, no personalized space for me yet.

Come back, ET, we miss you!


Why yes, I am covered in paint!

This was a positively beautiful weekend. I've spent more time outside in the past two days than I have in the past two months. Huzzah.

I've even managed to get myself a bit of a sunburn on my forearms (startin' that farmer tan early this year.)

Today we painted the patio furniture a delightful shade of springy/apple green. Very pale, very pretty, and very permanently affixed to random places on my arms and legs. No, it is not possible for me to paint (or bake, come to think of it) without getting schmutz all over me. And this being oil-based paint, it's going to be there for a while. I'd rather NOT do a full-body turpentine-rubdown.

The rest of the weekend was spent cooking (Souvlaki! Spare ribs! Strawberry tart!), chilling out on the porch swing, and soaking in a lot of sunshine. So. Good.

In other news:

Someone was fucking with my work PC over the past day or so, because messages that WERE there when I checked my webmail yesterday, are not there this evening. The only way that happens is if someone actually got onto my PC and opened up my outlook (thus downloading the messages waiting on the server, and clearing them off). Not that there was anything really exciting there to read, however, there is absolutely no reason for anyone to use that PC. (Bosslady has no fewer than 3 computers in her own house.)

Silent Bob goes to the vet tomorrow for her shots. Then, toward the end of May she gets spayed. I wonder if I can get some sort of "Frequent Visit" card, or maybe my own parking space at the Vet's office. I've seen Doc Haver more often than I've seen G. Monkey lately.

Speaking of G. Monkey, she is staying at the Museum O'doom. The Evil Empire was actually offering her a much lower salary than originally anticipated, and with O'doom's counteroffer, coupled with promises of design work, and the fact that she's home by 4:30 every day, and the fact that the Evil Empire might go under within the next year, meant that she'd be a fool not to stay at O'doom. And G. Monkey? Is no fool.

It's made of people!

Ok, it's actually made of Strawberry Tart, at the moment. Foodage, the other blog, is now live.

And no, I'm not kidding about Christopher Kimball. The man makes my apron moist.


The Other 50

Because I can, and because Queerjoe's second hundred made me think about it, I present, the other fifty things about me (that I feel like sharing.)(The first fifty)Now with links!

Ego. Yump.

1. I will put up with a lot of crap from people I like, but not so much from strangers/acquaintances.

2. I swear like a sailor with tourettes when I drive. (Monkey fuck! Monkey fuck! Monkey fuck!)

3. I've actually visited Punxsutawney Phil in his groundhog zoo. (I also have 2 Phil beanie babies. Gifts, I swear.)

4. I have creepy crushes on Richard Belzer (whose birthday is one day before mine)and Steve Buscemi.

5. My favorite apples are Granny Smiths

6. From now on, every pregnant friend is getting one of these shirts at her baby shower.

7. The first concert I saw was REM on their Monster tour.

8. I'm excessively polite when I interact with sales clerks, waitresses, and other folks in the service industry.

9. I would rather get a bikini wax than wear sweatpants (not to be confused with track pants, which are acceptable).

10. Every time I hear the Head & Shoulder's commercial where they sing "Head & Shoulders, Knees & Toes (knees & toes!)" I substitute the word "Nematodes" for "Knees & Toes". From now on, I bet you do too.

11. It just isn't a wedding 'till they play the chicken dance, or someone punches their mother.

12. I actually collected New Kids On the Block trading cards.

13. I don't have any tattoos, but if I did, I'd have a butterfly koi on my left shoulder.

14. Scrapple gives me the willies.

15. I'm more of a "book" person than a "movie" person.

16. That said, I really like old movies.

17. But to really mess with you, I like Poirot and Nero Wolfe in their filmed versions. (Thank you, A&E, for Sundays with Poirot, Nero and Inspector Barnaby.)

18. No matter how carefully I attack with the lint brush, I cannot leave the house without a wad of cat hair sticking to me.

19. I sing in the car. Loudly. (When I'm not swearing.)

20. I have considered bcoming a home ec teacher. (I stop when I remember how much I hate teenagers.)

21. My hair has been brown, black, blonde (for five minutes), hot pink, orange, red (as in the head, and not the crayola color), and is presently "Dark Auburn".

22. I curse the fact that I can't find Strongbow here. (And yes, I probably would drink "Scrumpy Jack", despite the fact that it sounds like a distant cousin to the "Dirty Sanchez".) Cider=Happy.

23. Though Iron City is good in a pinch. (Aluminum Bottles Rawk.)

24. I think my mom's pretty darn swell.

25. My Junior year photo was so bad my mom actually laughed at it when I brought it home. (Come to think of it, so were my Sophmore & Freshman year pictures.)

26. I make really, really good chicken souvlaki. (Recipe to come)

27. I have a serious "thing" for sock monkeys. Honestly, I can't explain it.

28. Every time the song "Baby Got Back" comes on, I laugh my ass off. All I can think of is 3 of the whitest white dudes ever, kickin' that in the middle of the night at my one and only music store opening. (Because believe me, nothing makes you forget about the hell that is organizing classical music like white guys singing "Baby got Back".)

29. Someday I will write a book about American attitudes (and corresponding actions) towards death and dying, and how/why they've evolved over the past 2 centuries.

30. I very well might kill someone for a really good creme brulee right about now.

31. I am mildly lactose intolerant. I am totally liver-and-onions intolerant.

32. When I used to be a chat ho, my name was Miss Ankle Strap Wedgie. (Which sounded much, much kinkier than it really was. For I am a Harlan Ellison geek, and pure, and chaste.)

33. I plan on getting my shit together and making a bunch of reproduction vintage aprons this spring/summer.

34. I have never had a good, widely used nickname, other than "G" or "E".

35. In real life, I'm actually pretty boring. (On my blog I'm just moderately boring.)

36. I love Miss Manners.

37. In high school, I did a "Radio show" with my then-best-friend. We recorded it on her Karaoke machine, and did all kinds of twisted parodies like "Puff the Magic Douchebag". It came with a satin carrying case, for the "Ho on the Go." We also had a pretty good long-running story about our Science teacher and his horse-faced-wife.

38. We have a long-standing bet in my circle of friends, that the first one to lick Weatherman Extrordinaire Matt Ritter in a nightclub, in full view of the rest of us, will receive the largest bottle available, of the alcohol of their choice. Bonus bottles will be awarded if the phrase "There's a fifty percent chance of you going home with me tonight." is uttered by either party.

39. I hate nail polish on my fingernails, but routinely paint my toenails.

40. In the great Marx Brothers vs Stooges debate, I will choose the Marx Brothers every time.

41. I actually got paid to write once. But it was for the most boring freebie paper in the world, so I stopped working for them. (They went under shortly thereafter, wholly unrelated, I believe.)

42. I nearly peed when I found out the new Laurie Notaro book is out. (in a week!)

43. I don't deal well with being ordered to do things.

44. My grandpap used to bottle his own maple syrup, and give us sassafrass to make tea out of.

45. I still check the Monroe County Sheriff's Office Arrests every once in a while, to see if anyone I knew has been busted lately.

46. I rarely answer my cell phone. Not because I'm difficult, I just forget to take it off vibrate.

47. I love the smells of spring and fall.

48. I fervently believe you haven't truly lived if you haven't gone through the local community fair. We actually have "Fair Season" at the beginning of September-ish, no fewer than six communities close off a stretch of the main drag, and have rides, games, and more deep-fried-stuff than you can shake a portable AED at. Oh, and the rat game. (Put your bet on a color, and if the rat, once loosed from its container, goes down through that colored hole, you win a prize.)

49. Every time I hear the song "Abraham, Martin & John" on the radio something or someone dies. I hate that song.

50. I can't think of a thing #50.


Hopdevil Haze

Yep, that's what I'm in now. That's what I get for being a lightweight, I suppose.

But first, the backstory:
I took place in the "Great Amurrican Gift Card Hunt" for Bosslady today. This is actually a very good thing, despite being (say it with me kids, "Not. My. Job.")it was beautiful outside, and I drove all over this county and the next to track down gift cards for Bosslady's soccer club soiree tomorrow. Hell, I got to go to Target, and I even found the cutest wedgies (and they fit as if they were made for my misshapen feet- I couldn't believe it), a cute skirt-y thing, matching shirts, and a cute purse for spring.

This is a major deal- usually I find nothing I can fit my ass (or feet) into at Target, and end up with housewares. Woo!

While in the next county over, I hit Borders, and got to actually talk to Chi-Chi-Steve, who IS coming up on his 10th anniversary there this summer. We exchanged email addresses, and that was a good thing. I haven't hung out with him in ages.

After work, I stopped at Stoltzfus's house, and we ended up grabbing a bite and a few beers on the deck at the restaurant around the corner. This was awesome- I haven't hung out with just Stoltzfus before, and we had a blast. I've earned a new nickname too. Especially because nobody calls me Special Sauce (That was something G. Monkey and I came up with while remodeling Hell's Half Acre.) Now, I am officially "The Craft Ninja".

That's right. Craft Ninja. Fear my circular needles of doom. Watch in awe as I fling half-completed socks on double pointed needles as if they were throwing stars. Be terrorized by my flaming glue gun of death. I will swoop in on a rope made from the hides of the less-talented, and redecorate anything that doesn't move, and slip away again faster than you can say "Sandra Lee is a Lush!" Fear the Craft Ninja.

Oh. And I'm also working on a "Foodage" blog. A repository for all things food-related. (Yes, really.) I've got a few recipes I want to pass on from Magic Dude, and a few of my own that I don't think I've posted here, plus a few golden oldies. More on that when it goes live (sometime this weekend, I think). I may even scan a few swell pages from the old cookbooks I have. Woot!

(And I promise, I won't spend ALL of my time pontificating about how wonderful Alton Brown is. Honest.)


Here's the deal,

See, if I am supposed to schedule your appointments and such, I can only go by what I have in my calendar. If you schedule other appointments and don't tell me about them, don't put them in your palm pilot, and never give it to me to dock, how the hell am I supposed to know that you've got an 11:00 appointment?

And when you realize that your 10:00 was actually a 10:30, (and I have told you that from the get-go that it was 10:30) and your kids are at home, because they had a sleepover, and you have an appointment at 11:00 and you're practically crying at me and repeating "shit, shit, shit, what am I going to do?". I'm going to sit there mutely, because this is your fault. And when you're crying because your kids haven't been fed breakfast yet (It's 10 AM, the hell?) and you're out of eggs, I'm going to roll my eyes. Your daughter is 16. She is old enough to know how to grab a bowl, put cereal in it, dump on some milk, and eat. Or grab some yogurts for her friends. Or make toast. Seriously. Even the 13 year old is bright enough to do this.

Besides, your personal chef was here Tuesday. I know you have food in the house. And if I was nice, I'd offer to go pick up some eggs, and cook for your "starving" kids, (like I know you were hoping I'd offer). However, you've not once asked me how Evil was, and you know she's sick. (Plus, not my job!)

In other news, Egg Radio is playing "Dad, I'm in Jail" by Was (Not Was). Elvis, I haven't heard this in forever! HEE!

Not so maudlin.

Ok. I'm done being a whiny prat.

At least being a whiny prat about my cat.

G. Monkey's Museum Gig offered her an extra 6k to stay at the museum o'doom, but she hasn't decided if she's taking it or not. There are pros and cons to both- and would you trade off soul-crushing boredom, and no chance at advancement for shorter hours and knowing that your place of employment probably won't fold within the next year.

So who knows.

Otherwise, folks, I got nothin'.

Well, other than the fact that Bosslady now insists I call her once a day (on top of the 123141578 times per day she calls me) and is making me CC her on most of the emails I send out. (Ok, so you want me to take "ownership" but I have to check with you before I pee, eh?) I know. I know. Employment ads. Monster. Check. And the crazy pod thing I had in the crook of my left arm is back, and bigger, and causing intermittent wackiness in my wrist/hand. (no, it's nothing major. It takes the doc a few seconds and some novocain to get in there and rip the thing out, though if it's back, maybe the last dude didn't do such a good job. Then again, he was also affiliated with "The Hospital That Nearly Killed G. Monkey, And Really Went Downhill After The Nuns Left" so his qualifications are suspect.)

But other than that. Nothin'.


Good News/Bad News

Well. The good news is Evil's here at the house with me. The bad news is she has Mast Cell Tumors. One on her side (which is what the oozing thing is) and one on her lymph node. If it was just the one on her skin, they'd probably be able to treat her, but the one on her lymph node is something they can't fix.

She's not acting sick, and is in fact behaving pretty much normally, so (With Dr. Haver's Permission) I plan on spoiling her rotten till she starts to decline. Then I am going to have to put her to sleep.

And that is the hardest sentence I've ever had to type.

It's Wednesday. The Delaware of days.

OK, it's positively gorgeous outside today. I am wearing shorts. SHORTS! To work, and it's supposed to get up to 80 degrees today. I am fully prepared to go in public and, if the sun is just right, blind people with the glare from my unnaturally white legs. (Note: They even stayed this white in FL. I just don't tan.)

Of course, today is also the day that Evil goes to the vet. I'll find out if she's going to get the egg scrambled, or, well... the option that I don't really want to think about right now. (And in my family, you're pretty much as likely to get two eyes, as you are to get cancer. It figures it would apply to my cat too. Arr.)

I meant to bring in this really cute picture of her to scan today, from when she was a kitten. So you can just imagine her, a little grey stripey cat with a white chin, belly, and feet, ginormous ears, and a very, very loud "MYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" (Think Siamese.) Now, picture her perched, parrot-style on my arm as I'm trying to cook. (Thank god she outgrew that habit, I could not function with a 13 pound beastie on my arm.)

I got Evil from friends I used to game with. Their cat had kittens, and after moving into a house with only 2 cats (after having 13 outdoor ones) I begged, and won. They brought her to Borders one night- we decided to meet there because it was easy for them to get there, and I worked there (but not that night). This cute little puffball purred the entire way home- no carrier for her, Odie held her the entire way home. She slept on my chest that night. I scoured websites, looking for just the perfect name for her. I went though Goddesses, unusual names, the whole nine yards. Then we noticed her all-consuming need to climb things. Especially me. And using her newly-discovered claws when she played. And she got called "evil kitty", more as a joke than anything else.

Then came Most Perfect Mom Ever's wedding (not long after Evil joined us). And the name really stuck. Thank goodness MPME decided to let the Maid of Honor (me) and the Junior MoH (her sister) wear elbow length gloves with our dresses, because my forearms were COVERED in evil kitty scratches.

And yeah, it was also kinda funny to go roaming through the house going "Eeeeeeevillllllll! Eeeeevilkitttttty!" Though, it is a bit awkward when you make vet appointments, but our vet has grown to expect unusual names from us. (Over the years I remember: Miss Kitty, Turtle, Whiskers, Pock, Krusty, Krusty II, Atilla, Big Mouth, kitty-boo, Merf, Midnight, Crabby, Chicago, Sammy,Amlette, Mooji, Silent Bob, and for pete's sake, the dog is named "Dogger." Sort for Doglette, because he's a toy poodle, therefore, not a full-fledged dog.)

So, Evil just kind of stuck, and I suppose I could play it off as an homage to Evil Knevil (because he is that damned cool), but at the time, it was strictly temprament. She does live up to it still- she doesn't like being picked up, or held. She is NOT a lap cat (despite my best efforts) and she (until lately) would pee on anything that was on the floor (laundry, especially, but occasionally shoes) or in laundry baskets. But she does have an incredibly soft, plushy pelt, and when she sleeps on my feet, it's absolutely adorable. And when I would go away (Borders would send me away for 3 weeks at a time) she'd look all over the house for me. The 2 years I was in FL, she was quite forlorn. Lately she's just been chillin' in my room, looking out the window, and parking herself directly in front of my pillows. (And she gets a bit bent out of shape if she has to move so I can.. you know... sleep. So I am sleeping on the couch* for now.)

All this to say, keep your fingers crossed tonight that this tumor (bah, I hate even typing that word) can be removed easily, and that Evil's around for another seven years.

*Sleeping on the couch actually means falling asleep to the 2nd L&O broadcast on TNT, and waking up sometime around the 2nd X-files broadcast, but being afraid to get up and turn the thing off, because then I'd really wake up, so I sort of remain half-awake until 6:00, and then go about my regular routine. (Someday I'll tell the tale of our giant, wood-encased, TV from 1982.)


Consider My Front Porch Crapped On.

The Vet just called.

Evil's easter egg came back as Kitty Kancer (see, if you spell it with a K, it's less likely to make you Kry. Which is a load of Krap.). She's going in Wednesday, so that he can take a better look at things, however, if the mass is actually in one of her lymph nodes, there's not a lot he can do. The big funky thing on her side is probably an extension of that. And I am, officially, the worst cat mother ever.

Khrist on a Krutch.

These Ks aren't helping.

It's the wee, bitty things.

Yes, Sauce is in a mellow kind of mood. Marvin Gaye on the radio's helping nicely. I'm happy about the little things today.

Like having a cat on your desk, begging to be adored, and stopping at nothing till you pet him.

Like the sun, finally shining after a weekend of torrential rain, and the grass turning that beautiful shade of bright green.

Like finding out that today's Queerjoe's Birthday!

Like getting an email in the middle of the day from a certain someone you had almost written off, and finding out he's finally got email access at home.

Like dreading going to a meeting you don't have the slightest interest in, and finding out you don't have to go.

Like not breaking your neck in your favorite Carmen Miranda platform wooden sandals with the cutouts in them, because despite how they make your stumpy little legs look, they do not impart swan-like grace.

Like discovering that your Evil beastie likes your very first knitting project (a huge, misshapen, basketweave afghan (that you never finished!), knitted on gigunda needles with SIX strands of lavender heather yarn held together)

Like knowing that you've got the BEST birthday present ever for your mom, and knowing that she'll never guess it, because she knows you hate having your picture taken, and your brother is notoriously uncooperative.

Like not being angry at yourself anymore for weighing one pound more than you did at your annual, because you don't actually know what you weighed when you started working out. (And remembering that being pissed off at yourself isn't going to accomplish anything except make you want to eat a bacon cheeseburger and an order of fries for spite.)

Like going home and searching the classified ads in earnest, because you're finally a bit more calm about wanting to leave this job. It's not for spite, or the money, it's for what makes the most sense for you.

Of course, I'll probably go home and find out that someone has crapped on my front doorstep, shot the dog, abducted the cats, and switched my voter registration to Republican. But for now, I'm in a serene kind of mood.

Now, I need to go join the Chamber of Commerce, so I can see Big Dog Clinton at the annual dinner. (And, as someone pointed out, I used to have "Monica Hair". And yes, I would.) Hope y'all are enjoying your little things too.


Shut. Up. Bono.

From this evening's Excite News headlines.

Bono: Pope Was Catholic Church's 'Best Front Man'

Pardon me while I rant for a moment, but when the fuck did people start caring what Bono has to say? He's everywhere. And yes, Bono put out some really good music in the early eighties, but you know what? You can't coast on The Joshua Tree forever. 'K?

Also, Bono. Just a little aside here. You're a tool. I don't care how wonderful your cause, I don't care how swell your mission. You're a tool. TOOOOOL. You're not even a Craftsman with a lifetime guarantee, no. You're one of those 341 different gadgets in 1, made from high-grade plastic, with its very own "finest corinthian leather" case, tools that they advertise at 3AM.

You know why you're a tool, Bono?

Because the people who genuinely want to see change, do good works, and shut. Their. Fucking. Mouths. They don't do it for the sound bites.

Don't get me wrong. You're an altruistic guy, and that's a great thing. You're a true humanitarian. Your new clothing line is paying people a living wage. That's swell. But tell me, can you even take a crap without calling a press conference?

Maybe I just can't stand the fact that you're on the news constantly. Do people at CNN say, "Oh! Something has happened! We MUST ask Bono what he thinks!" God forbid we do some real reporting.


So in short, shut. Up. Bono.


Hoo Boy.

Damn, when I get pranked, I get pranked good.

The backstory.

I told you all yesterday that Bosslady threatened to show up at Stoltzfus' house last night to finish these stupid cards that don't NEED to be finished, but she's just being unreasonable about. And last night was also the night Odie and I were getting our pictures taken for mom's birthday.

Well, let me tell ya. Stoltzfus is officially taking every photo of me from now until the end of time, because damn if he didn't make me look swell. He even made Odie not look like a serial killer in training. (not that Odie looks like one, he just tends to look odd in pictures...)We're going through and picking the shots we like best, and photoshopping out cat hairs and ginormous freckles, and it took a while. We were having a blast. So G. Monkey comes up after her gallery opening, and we all hang out for a while.

Then Stoltzfus decides we need food. Cut to the restaurant, where we come up with an absolutely brilliant concept for a website which may, or may not, make its debut shortly. We also discuss that G. Monkey's mom totally got her for April Fool's day. And we all lament the fact that we didn't "get" anyone ourselves this year. G. Monkey mentions her talent for telling GREAT lies with a straight face, and as we're all exhausted, we head our separate ways.

I just got home, and was trying to get Evil her drugs, and get ready for the end of the night, when my cell phone rings. It's G. Monkey. I'm wonderin' what's going on, and answer the phone. And, it's not quite verbatim, but here we go...

SS: Yo, G. What's up.
GM: Hey, are you at home?
SS: Yeah, what do you need? I'm not in my PJ's yet.
GM: Well, we decided to go back to Stoltzfus's, and finish that wine, and when we got home Bosslady was on his steps, looking for his key.
SS: Oh shit. Shit. Ok. What's going on.
GM: She's over in the other room, acting the way she did when she was over at my house, and totally freaking out about some logo or something that you're supposed to have?
SS: FUCK! OK. Shit. It figures she'd fucking do this.
GM: Yeah, Stoltzfus is in there trying to calm her downr ight now, and he said to call you.
SS: Ok. Alright. Christ,I can't believe she's fucking there. OK. you're the most lucid of the bunch, I'm sure. The logo that she's asking about... (and mind you, I'm in like, hostage negotiator mode, right now, because all I can think of is "damn, do I NOT want to have to go back IN town") is it...
GM: Something about her brother's logo?
SS: AH! Julie. Her sister in law. Damnit, if the bitch would have read her damn email, like she's SUPPOSED TO, she'd see that it's coming MONDAY.
GM: Well, she's freaking out on Stoltzfus and acting all crazy, I'm trying to talk quiet, because I don't want her to hear me and get even more angry.
SS: Just tell her, the logo is on their website if she's that desperate, but the high rez version will be here MONDAY. Can she wait until monday?
GM: Monday.
SS: Monday. I swear, it should be there, if not she needs to talk to her sister in law.
GM: Well, but if she doesn't get it till monday, it won't still be April first, will it?
SS: (As it finally dawns on me) FUCK! You're fucking with me!
GM, with Stoltzfus in the background: *imitating a noise we associate with bosslady*
SS: Damnit! You guys are evil! She SO would have showed up too.
GM: Muwahahaha. We realized it was 11:40, and we hadn't gotten anybody yet, so, you won!

Not bad for getting heart failure. And she was so very serious, with the right level of escalating panic. Girl could win an academy award.

And the local drive-in is showing Boogieman and the Ring 2, so if it stops raining, we're going. With luck, they'll show Sin City next week.


Friday -o-rama

I had planned to do some big old April Fool's post today, about how Bosslady drove me to the brink, and I told her to take this job, and cram it sideways, with walnuts. Because, I knew it wasn't going to happen.

Well. It very well could tonight, if she shows up at my "photo shoot", as she is declaring she will. I wish I was joking. Because she "needs to make sure Stoltzfus has the signs done by Monday" so she'll "be over at his house tonight." Which is fine and good, but I reminded her I. Have booked Stoltzfus for the evening. Her response? "Well, I don't care what you do, you do your thing, I'll be there anyway."

Um. No.

Details as they come.

And, because it's another beautiful day outside, I'm prompted to think about happy stuff. So I present:

Special Sauce's List of Good Stuff:

1. Yoplait Light Yogurt. I surely thought I had a winner when I found Dannon Light & Fit. I have a new mistress now. The Yoplait Harvest Peach is quite possibly the most fun one can have for 55 cents. Hunks of froot! So yummy. The blackberry's not bad, but too many seeds. Bonus: no freaky cornstarchy texture! Hate their container shape though.

2. Sunshine. I am pasty pale. I glow in the dark. As Paul T. Riddell says, "When I go outside, I do a cool Diamond Blue Tip Match impersonation". But damn, if that sunshine isn't awesome. Bonus: Freckles!

3. Stoltzfus. Sure, he's the one who tipped me off to my present employment, but he's a swell guy anyway, and he's givin' me a good hookup for these photos.

4. Today's Go Fug Yourself rocks.

5. Fridays. Fridays freakin' rock. I'm planning on doing some hardcore cleaning, some hardcore laundry, and some fun stuff involving a jumprope and dumbbells. I hope the weather holds.

6. Emails from Joe Bob Briggs rock. Just because, damnit, they really do.

7. The drive-in opening this weekend also fucking rocks. And if they're showing Sin City, I will be there. Mmm. Sin City.

Have a great weekend. Be safe, and stuff too.