Vic Mackey last night. Oh. My. Heck. (To quote the most annoying phrase in the world) Sadly, there was no actual sex in the dream. I think that, with only one or two exceptions, my dreams don’t involve the sex act – they involve the promise of the sex act. All things leading up to it, the flirting, the teasing, a kiss or two, and then invariably someone does a double-flip-with-a-twist across my ribs, and I wake up all frustrated. I always try to get back into the dream, but it never works. Wahhhh! For Teresa, who (back when I was taking picture requests) asked for a shot of what’s under my bed, here it is: A cat toy, a bunch of cat hair, and a couple of earplugs. I’d store stuff under the bed, but the cats like to hang out under there and would probably trash anything that got in their way. I’m sitting here waiting for the guy to come fix the dishwasher. We’re coming up on a month since it stopped working, and it’s getting REALLY old. I’m sure those of you without a dishwasher are reallllly feeling sorry for me, aren’t you? I know that when I wash the dishes, they get clean, because I use the hottest possible water (and protect my hands with big yellow rubber gloves), but the spud lacks a little in the elbow grease department. I grabbed a plate the other day, and the top part – the part you eat off of – was clean, but the bottom part was greasy from who knows what. Bleh. Anyway, the dishwasher man is supposed to show up between noon and 3:30, and despite my hopes, it doesn’t appear that he’ll be showing up early the way he did before. This, of course, is because we have plans for this afternoon – time to go pick up this month’s supply of free-range chickens – and no doubt he’ll show up exactly at 3:30 and then spend two hours fixing the dishwasher, putting a wrench in our plans to leave as soon as Fred gets off work. Grrr. I spent about an hour this morning cleaning the kitchen – which doesn’t get cleaned often enough, believe you me – and dusting the entire downstairs. Fred’s parents will be feeding the cats while we’re gone, and I’d like the house to look at least halfway decent. Possibly even three-quarters decent. I was going to vacuum the entire downstairs this morning as well, but I think I’m going to wait until Thursday morning and do it last thing before we leave. The queen of procrastination, that’s me. Today’s the spud’s last day of school, and it’s a half day for her. She should be home any minute now, and I’d take her out to lunch to celebrate, except for the whole waiting-for-the-repairman thing. When she got home from school yesterday, she said "Do I have to go to school tomorrow?", with the hopes that I’d say "Oh, it’s the last day of school. Just sleep in!" But I made her go anyway. Something on the floor? Sit on it. —–]]>