Cats -- and evidence thereof -- is EVERYWHERE

I own two cats -- or rather, two cats who rule our lives live with us -- and they basically pwn our apartment. We are just lucky that they don't like getting on the kitchen counter or eating human food, or quite frankly, I just don't know that we'd be able to keep the human-cat power balance, well, balanced.
And yet, as much as I love the furry little buggers and everything about them (except their dooks -- those are nasty), I am really starting to resent their HAIR.
It gets everywhere.
Clothes fresh from the drier have cat hairs on them.
When I wake up in the morning, I have cat hair in my hair ... and sometimes in my nose.
White, fluffy, lighter-than-air dander floats around my car, a car the cats have never been in.

I have black clothes I can't wear, so sullen are they with cat hair.

And yet ...
When they purr their affection with a sidle at my ankles, when they cozy up to me when I get home from work, when they nap on my chest when we're chilling in the living room, I know that I love them beyond all reason, in spite of the tufts they'll leave in their wake when they have their CatTacks later.
Tufts I call my White Badge of Affection.

Blech

I came home from work sick today after not even getting to work until late because of spectacular digestive pyrotechnics.
My tummy hurt so much, it woke me from a dead sleep two and a half hours early, then I spent a half hour trying to convince myself I wasn't going to be sick before I got up and was, well, sick.
Horribly and violently so.
I at least feel good that I rallied my troops and got into work for a few hours. It's not enough to save the world, but maybe I at least saved some trouble.

Craftiness

I've been playing around with sewing since I borrowed Dave's mom's sewing machine a bit ago, and I really seem to be taking to it!
The key, it seems, is precision, not speed. Precision in cutting, precision in seam allowance, precision in pinning.
Of course, sometimes I prefer to just hold the material pieces together and sew that way. If I've cut the pieces properly, they'll line up perfectly.
And there's something about the hands-on approach I like.
Some Web site I read said that sewing has shown to reduce stress up to 40 percent, and I think I'm feeling the effects of that, too. There's something soothing philosophically about turning some flat panel of material into a three-dimensional object.

Who's laughing now, smarty?

OK, so there's this new over-the-counter weight loss aid coming out in June. It's the first FDA-approved OTC weight loss drug.
1) It works by taking fat you eat and wrapping it up so your body can't digest it. Then it sends it on the flume ride that is your bowels. If you eat a lot of fat, you may have gas accompanied by oil emissions like an old Dodge. You may have oily BMs. And you may lose control over when and where you BM. These are being called treatment effects.
2) These "treatment effects" come into play ESPECIALLY if you don't curb your fat intake. You can CONTROL the effects by limiting your fat intake.
3) If you continue to eat lots of fat, you will have embarrassing emissions and crap a lot.

My take: Best practical joke ever.

I'll probably try it, 'cause God knows, I don't crap enough.

One of the things on their site says you can use the"treatment effects" to judge if you're eating too much fat.
So, let me get this right: Pooping in my pants is my punishment for bad food choices?

Does that seem like a fair tradeoff?

Clothes note

Note to self: No more corduroy until I lose at least 3 inches of thigh fat.
Depending on how fast I walk, I either sound like I'm the backscratch beat for a remix, or a slowly undoing zipper.

Big Hair

I love big hair, and I can't deny, you other sisters can't deny.
When a chick walks in with an itty-bitty face and some mall bangs in her eyes, you get jealous, 'cause she's gettin' all the fellas.

Deep in her pockets, you're staring, a 'fro pick peeking out.

Takes lot' o' hairspray and hands of mousse,

A weave standing tall to produce

Bad clothes for kids

Most disturbing thing ever: In a video I edited, 7- or 8-year-old girl wearing a t-shirt: "No Angel"

Sure, it was just a T-shirt and not a hoochie shirt, but who the hell designs a little girl shirt that says "NO ANGEL"??

It's like designing a onesie that says "slut"

Options when you're bored

Wanna hacky sack in the picnic area?
All we're missing are hackysacks and a picnic area!
Wanna gossip in our emergency evacuation roll call area?
Wanna fake a fire drill?

We can call each other, then yelp, "OHMIGOD!", then run to stairs with serious looks on our faces. Yell "SAVE YOURSELVES THE END IS NIGH!" Then run down the stairs.

Madge dream

I dreamed that Susan and I went to a Madonna concert and Madonna recognized me as a member of the D staff and signed a program for me.
Then at the concert, the sound was really really sketchy, so Madonna took the whole audience on a train ride as part of the concert, singing on the PA system of the train.
Then we stopped at a small village for pizza and Susan and I turned down a street and Albert were there with some other people making latex masks. And he got totally mad at me for taking his pic.
Then Susan and I ran away and got in line for pizza.
We were worried the train back to the concert hall was going to leave without us.

My definition of Fark

Looking at Fark is like peeling back Jeff's scalp and seeing the hamster running on the wheel.

Emoticon of a fart

Fart blossom ==3
Fart being released 3==
Fart blossom from the bum 3 ==3
Wet one 3 ==*

Today's Show at JitB Theater

Today's Show at JitB Theater: The Manic Display of Over-Reactive Youth

(clears throat)

"What motherfucker called the motherfucking cops on me?! I'ma gon' bust all the way into someone's brain! Motherfuckers don' know who they messin' with! Motherfuckers calling motherfucking cops! (punches trash can, comes back to table) Motherfuckers! ARGH! (takes trash to trash can, throws it all, including tray, away) MOTHERFUCKERS!!! (kicks trash can and hits it again before punching his way outside, still holding drink cup, then stops in middle of drive-thru lane) ARGH!! What'chu doing?! (runs to sidewalk along 14th at such high speed I'm thinking he's going to go straight into traffic) ARGH!!! I SEE YOU, MOTHERFUCKERS!"

Patrons look at each other: WTF?

fini

Just called DH to wake him up for his evening shift

DH: Where are you?
Me: I'm at work.
DH: What time is it?
Me: 5:06.
DH: a.m. or p.m.?

BYOB as well

Where: On the acre grounds of Chuck Flanagan's home, 38766 Brookside Ave., Cherry Valley. Bring your own food, chairs and blankets.

This is from an event in a weekly magazine.
I wonder if this guy even knows he's hosting something.

What: Celebrate the coming summer movie season with a film festival
Where: So-and-so's apartment.
Bring your own food, chairs, DVDs and a friend who can pick a lock.

Random

A guy wearing a dirty black wifebeater and ill-advised facial hair just biked through our parking lot while smoking a cigarette.

????

The cafe at our office runs its menu online.
There's some coding error or font error or something that's tacking "?" on the ends of menu items: "Luncheon Entree?" "Roast Chicken?"
If you're not sure if it's lunch or the entree, I'm fine with that. But if you're confused about if it's chicken or not, I'm scared.

OMG cords

My corduroy pants make scary Whish-Whish-Whish noises.
Like, more than ever before.
I try to walk faster to lessen the time it's making the noise, but then it's higher-pitched.
So I try walking with my legs farther apart, looking like a baby with a load.

My nephew's lost afternoon

My nephew broke his finger at school yesterday!

No one really knows what happened -- the story went from, Leah hit me, to a helicopter came down and chopped it off, but my blood went back inside me and the finger grew back -- but he has a fracture in the bone of his left ring finger.

Doc says it's consistent with someone grabbing the finger and forcing it down, or a blow that caught the finger and forced the hand down.

But since Sawyer's four and prone to stories, my sister doesn't think they'll ever really know what happened.

It's like "S_____'s Lost Afternoon."

My personal fave idea: He's toughing up. No one's gonna tell HIM he can't wear stripes with paisley.

My Mom Vs. the Cell Phone

Me: Hi, Mom? i just sent you an e-mail.
Mom: What? I can't hear you!
Me (louder): Mom? I just sent you ...
Mom: I can't hear you!
Me (almost yelling): I JUST SENT ...
Mom: WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? I CAN'T HEAR ...
(breaking up, Kate hangs up and calls back on niece's phone)
Me: Hi, A____? Let me talk to Mom.
(Mom is laughing in the background)
Me: Hi, Mom, I sent ...
Mom (still laughing): Amber just must have a better whatchamacallit than I do!
Me: Yeah, so, I sent this e-mail ...
Mom: What?