So as we truck along with drugging the cat per the vets advice I have noticed quite a few fun side effects but most recently I’ve noticed his Giant, global looking eyeballs. It’s like all of a sudden he is seeing the world differently, and finds it surprising…
Here is a visual reenactment:
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Congrats to Windowpane Memoirs for their new blog look, it is surely one of the most creative ones out there, though most of you truely blow me away when it comes to blogging. I just can’t keep up!
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AND THEN!
My friend, Lindsay, shared this blog with me when we were at bowling last week. I couldn’t stop laughing! If the day finds you bored, go read some of what she writes! She tells the funniest stories and draws pictures with a simple paint bucket program, but they’re great. Considering her 25000+ followers, you know it’s good.
Kitty went to the vet again since he supposedly has Kidney failure…
He’s been ripping apart doors, floors, and peeing everywhere but in his litter box, and I’d finally had enough!
I took him, this time, up to the university where our vet school in nationally awarded. Turns out he’s fine! He’s just anxious and depressed.
“Here. Give him these.” They said.
“What are ‘these’?”
“… well … Prozac. That cat needs something.” All the while she staring at me bleary eyed as they had kept Chandler overnight for testing. I could tell he must have drove them as nuts as me…
I took kitty home and forced a half of a pill down his throat and this is a re-enactment of the following 48 hours of his life…
Life is good now.
“Mommy, I’m not scared of heights,” he says…
I say, “Mr. Bing, I know.”
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“Mommy, but I like the cat grass,” he says…
I say, “Mr. Bing, I can see that. You killed it.”
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“Mommy, I want a nap,” he says.
“Thank Goodness,” I say.
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“Mommy, Chandler Bing is an idiot…”
“I know, Mr. Wee. I know…” I sigh.
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Two years I’ve been growing this Purple Clover, and Paco finally gave up.
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He turned to me and said, “Seriously, the cats keep eating me and my leaves are so big I can no longer hold them up! I think it’s in our best interest to cut my hair and save the cats their digestive discomfort.”
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I touched my finger to my chinny chin chin and thought for a moment. “But, Paco, what if your hair doesn’t grow back? You came from my grandmother who brought you all the way from Switzerland. You’re not an average clover, you’re Swiss!”
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Paco laughed, his accent really coming out now. “Aft! I am strong! I survived a ten hour flight and a few hour layover in Heathrow, in coach none-the-less! If I can survive that, I can survive the haircut!”
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I took out the sharpest sheers I owned, my lips pressed together as I gazed upon the blades. “I promise to cut fast.”
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He shook his withering petals. “Danke gleichfalls.”
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I held my breath and cut fast, taking his extra hair and saving it in a vase.
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Over the next few days I kept a watchful eye on Paco – he had been silent. Day and night I brought him water, day and night I whispered sweet nothings upon the severed stems, until finally, a single petal emerged and Paco whispered to me…
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“I feel much better now…”
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After a satisfying italian meal on the deck last night, my husband turned to me and said:
“Man, I’m craving a Greek salad, and not just any Greek salad, but an I.O.U. Greek salad.”
My brows stitched together. “What’s an I.O.U. Greek salad?” I asked.
A half smile crept across his face. “What, you don’t know?”
I shook my head, feeling dumb for asking.
He sat up, placed his plate on the table and took a sip of wine. “Well, First you take over 100 billion American Tax-payer dollars and put it in a I.M.F. blender and blend until you can’t tell its American Tax-payer dollars anymore. Then, you mix it with a couple billion European Tax-payer dollars and you sprinkle it over a mound of Greek I.O.U.’s with feta, tomatoes, and cucumber, then garnish with a toasted pita.” He sat back, rubbing his tummy and licking his lips. “Sounds good, doesn’t it? Sure to be a global blowout.”
My eyes grew wide. “It does! But… it sounds a bit scandalous.”
He chuckled. “Well of course. That’s what makes it so tart and delicious, but I should warn you, though it looks healthy, it’s crammed with fat.”
I frowned. “Well, okay then. I’ll make it, I suppose.” I rubbed my tummy, not wanting to gain the weight of it.
He chuckled again, this time in a darker tone. “It’s not like you have any choice.”
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The smell of fertilizer taints the air of my front yard, and where I hate the smell, I love that it will kill the hundred-plus dandelion’s that have flourished there. It’s always too cold to fertilize before the grass begins to grow, so every year we end up with this less than beautiful bed of yellow flowers – definitely not the romantic bed of flowers I was hoping for.
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Pre-season herb-o-cidal bouts come in the form of a gas powered Honda, going about the yard like the Queen of Hearts and chopping their heads off while I smile with murderous delight…
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I even hear they’re edible… but for this bunch, not anymore.
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Shrivel little yellow hat ladies… feel the acid burn.
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On a better, less herb-o-cidal note, the unnaturally trained apple by my front door is blooming! I bought one that was grown on wires so it looks like a grape vine. It matched the twenty foot tall one in the back yard that has the same flowers all over it.
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Massive pink. Massive Hummingbird utopia.
That’s what they’re wondering…
Ha ha.
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Well, yesterday I was doing the laundry, and my husband (plays city league baseball) left his Jock Strap on the floor and I almost died tripping over it (I know, ew.) Needless to say I then stood there for fifteen minutes rubbing my toe (which I’d hit against the bedframe) and wondering what came first: The Jock, or the Jock Strap.
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Don’t ask me why I thought this, but I just did.
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Did they name the Jock Strap ofter the Jock, or the Jock after the Jock Strap??
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So then last night at bowling I posed the question to my two friends and one of my friends husbands, who is a Sports Equipment Manager at Washington State University.
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Needless to say we couldn’t formulate a good answer without giggling… Though I did bring up the idea that it came from Jockey, like the underwear brand…
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Today, the question still haunts me, so I decided to do some research and here’s what I found:
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Info Courtesy Wikipedia
“The word jockstrap has purportedly been in use since 1897, a likely contraction of ‘jockey strap’, as the garment was first designed for bicycle riders, or ‘bike jockeys’. The Bike Jockey Strap was the first jockstrap manufactured in America in 1874.[1][2] Jockey itself is the diminutive form of the Scots nickname Jock (for John) as Jackie is for the English nickname Jack. The nicknames Jack and Jackie, Jock and Jockey have been used generically for ‘man, fellow, boy, common man’. From the period c.1650-c.1850, ‘jock’ was used as slang for… (I cut this part out, you get the drift…)
The more recent slang term ‘jock’, meaning an athlete, is traced to 1959 and is itself derived from ‘jockstrap’.[3]”
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Ha! There was my answer! So Jock Strap did come first… good to know.
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As a woman, it is nice to know that one more mystery of the male world has been solved. Thank Goodness!
I’m really not kidding,
So who’ll start the bidding?
Do I hear the dollar?
A nickel?
A penny?
Oh, isn’t there, isn’t there, isn’t there any
One kid that will buy this old sister for sale,
This crying and spying young sister for sale?
Shel Silverstein
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Well, no. I’ll sell my brother, though!
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But what is for sale is my book. To celebrate the new release, Amazon has Knight Angels on sale for 28% off!
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Two. Eight.
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Twenty-eight.
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Percent (%)
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Yay!
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This guy is sure excited about it!
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This guy’s sure gonna put in an offer!
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Knight Angels is Now Being Published in Brazil! Available December of This Year!
Click To Search!
Click To Buy Now!
Buy From Amazon Now!
Available at Amazon, Click to Buy!
Click Here To Buy from Amazon!
Available On Amazon!
abra ebner 