People. The kitten has been incredibly clingy – I know I mentioned that yesterday – and in the middle of the night, I woke up to find her flung across my head, and purring up a storm. A few minutes later, just as I was drifting back to sleep, she slid down my face, walked across my throat and curled up on my arm, which was curled up next to my face. It’s nice to be loved with such dedication. I watched Ride with the Devil last night. Sucky movie, but I now have a major crush on Tobey Maguire. What a little cutie-pie! My favorite line was when he said to Skeet Ulrich (ie, the poor man’s Johnny Depp) "A negra with a gun’s still a nervous thing to me." His delivery – the look on his face, and those gee-whiz eyes – cracked me up. I’m certainly with-it this week. Fred and I have two movies to watch, but I’ve watched all but one of mine. I rock! Last night in bed, Fred and I spent a good ten minutes talking about Survivor. Isn’t that pathetic? I swear, I LOVE that show. That and Sex and the City are my two favorite shows right now. Fred said "It’s like they’re your church, with services on Sunday and Wednesday…" Pardon me while I worship at the Altar o’ Rudy. Did I mention that Fred got Tae Bo tapes from Ebay? He’s done the introductory tape the last few days, and they appear to be kicking his ass just a tad. He’s a better man than I, though – I took one look at Billy Blanks stretching and said "Um, nope. I’m not ready for this!" The cats are suddenly deciding to take closed doors as a personal affront. I was in the downstairs bathroom last night, with the door shut thankyewverymuch, when I saw a fuzzy black paw snake under the door, and reach upwards. A second later, Fancypants let out a mournful howl. Another second later, here came the fuzzy black paw again. What he thought he’d accomplish with that paw, I have no idea. After another mournful howl, I smacked my side of the door and yelled "Cut it out, Fancypants!", whereupon he ran like a bat out of hell up the stairs to hide under the bed. Damn cats. The trip to Maine is looming ever closer, and I just know I’ll be running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off Monday evening throwing everything but the kitchen sink into my suitcase. "I’ll be there for a week, so I need to take… 25 pair of underwear!" I always bring makeup with me to Maine, and I haven’t got a clue why. Not once have I put a single lick of makeup on my face while vacationing in Maine, not a single time. In fact, I can’t recall the last time I put makeup on, period. Probably last Christmas eve, when getting ready to go to Fred’s mother’s house. I’m just not a makeup kinda gal and never have been. I touch my face far too often, and end up rubbing half the makeup off. God forbid I ever get a job where I have to wear makeup all the time. That would totally suck. Y’all have a good weekend!]]>