Spanky if he doesn’t stop that infernal fucking howling. He’s lucky he’s still alive after I found yesterday that he’s been peeing over the side of the litter box, against the wall (thank god we’ve got the wall covered with plexiglass). And of course I’d skipped cleaning the litter box on Thursday, so there was a river of cat pee collected under the litter box, coating the floor and the bottom of the litter box, which I didn’t realize until I was holding the litter box and it was dripping cat pee all over my foot. The red veil descended, as Fred would say. I was already in a bad mood because of my FUCKING email (more on that in a sec), and then to have cat pee dripping all over my foot was the final indignity. (I seriously considered running upstairs, grabbing the little bastard, dragging him downstairs, pushing his nose in the pee, and spanking him, but knew for sure if I started spanking him, I would probably beat him to death, and I am many things but a cat-killer I am not.) I threw the offending litter box into the garage after cleaning the litter and tossing it in another litter box (I guess I wasn’t that out of control), then tossed a layer of clean litter on the floor, and heaved the litter box back where it belonged, then stomped into the bathroom to take my shower. Where I discovered that I had no towels, because I’d put both sets in the washer the day before and neglected to put them in the dryer, save for a small hand towel. I knew that if I ran upstairs or called up to Fred to drop me down a towel, I’d start ranting and lose my mind. Since Fred stayed home from work yesterday because his ears were bothering him, I didn’t think he’d care to hear my bitching, so I used the damn small hand towel to dry myself. Small towel, big ass. Let’s just say I wasn’t completely dry when I walked out of the bathroom. Then I stomped upstairs, complained to Fred about my email (I’ll get to it in a minute; be patient), and he yawned at me and didn’t say anything, proving his disdain for my troubles, so I flounced into the bedroom, slammed the door (okay, quietly shut the door), and threw myself on the bed whilst swearing to myself that I was going to stay in bed all day because if I didn’t, I would surely kill someone. After half an hour or so of perusing an old Entertainment Weekly, I’d calmed down enough to not bite Fred’s head off when he knocked on the bedroom door. Pardon me while I pause and tell y’all that the kitten just came downstairs with her toy feather duster in her mouth, chirping proudly the whole while. Did I get a picture, you ask? Well, of course.
So, the day turned out to be okay, despite it’s shitty beginning, which reminds me that I forgot to bitch about my email. My host, whom I shall not link because I hate them and they can kiss my ass, was in the process of updating their mail servers all day Thursday and all day Friday, and meanwhile I could not get one single, solitary piece of email. Can I tell you how FUCKING FRUSTRATING that is? Oh, and the best part is that instead of all my mail sitting somewhere until such a time that they finished upgrading the servers, instead of something REASONABLE like that, INSTEAD, all my motherfucking mail was BOUNCING. Ugh. So if any of y’all emailed me and I didn’t respond, it probably didn’t make it’s way to me BECAUSE MY HOST BITES THE BIG ONE. I’d’ve moved long before now, but where else can I find unlimited storage space for $60 every 3 months? *sob* I spent forever and a day shredding stuff last night, because Fred took a look around the computer room and said "Beeeeeeeeeessie? What would it take for you to clean up your side of the computer room?" I snarled "I’ll get it clean this weekend!" Why is my side of the computer room such a mess, you may ask. Well, mostly because I pay the bills, so all the bills are piled on my desk, and if he doesn’t know where to put a piece of paper, he piles it where? On my desk. Where does the kitten like to sleep? On my desk. Where do packages which need to be mailed out go? On my desk (granted, this is my fault, because I only get my shit together and get packages ready to go every once in a blue moon). Who has a too-small desk, so that the scanner and printer and CPU can’t comfortable fit on the top? Moi. Anyway, I filed the huge stack of papers sitting messily on the TV, which needed to be filed, and then I went through the files and pulled out things like my pay stubs from 3 years ago, and a lease from our old apartment, and other things I decided we didn’t need to hang on to. By the time I was done, I had a stack 6 inches high, and since you can’t just throw that stuff in the trash whole because there are people lurking out there who are ready to steal your identity given the slightest chance, I began shredding. And shredded and shredded and shredded, until halfway through the stack, the shredder broke. I broke the shredder, damnit, can you believe that? I ripped everything else by hand, and this morning my hands were sore. Well, since this entry is one big bitch-fest, I’ll close it out by mentioning a good thing that happened: Fred agreed to take over the weekly grocery shopping. This is good because he sticks to the grocery list, unlike a certain someone, who throws all sorts of bad-for-us stuff in the grocery cart, and therefore he spends a lot less on groceries than I do. —–]]>