Cruisin’ through Hollywood, checkin’ out the babes. Taking a break from kicking the ass of that Osbourne dog who keeps pooing on the floor. Demanding love from The Prez. SquareSpot DorkWad. I should have known when he kept getting late-night calls from Anna Nicole that something was going on.

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I swear to god, it seemed like every time I fell asleep this weekend, Fred felt the need to wake me up. He woke me up Saturday morning to let me know that he was off to get groceries (but that’s okay, because I always want a hug and kiss before he goes somewhere), then when he got home he came through the room to put something away (I’m hazy on the details), and gleefully shouted with all the air in his freakish Morning Person lungs “Roll your ass out of bed, Bessie!” I groaned and rolled over, possibly giving him the finger in the process. Half an hour later, the phone rang, and I decided that NO ONE WANTED ME TO GET MY FULL 12 HOURS OF SLEEP, DAMNIT!, and stomped downstairs to wander around for a while before going back upstairs to shower and dress for the day. Saturday afternoon, we were watching Signs, and Fred fell asleep in the loveseat. I decided to go upstairs and take a nap, since the movie was SERIOUSLY putting me to sleep, and he told me just to turn the movie off. Jokingly, as I left the room, I said “Don’t let me sleep past 7!” thinking that he would know, since I didn’t have to make dinner (we had steak, which is his job to cook, and therefore the rest of dinner falls to him as well) I could snooze until 4:30. At 4:00, he came upstairs and sat on the edge of the bed next to me, waking me up. “Did you say I shouldn’t let you sleep past 7?” he said, confusedly. “Yes,” I mumbled. “It was a joke.” “Did you mean 4?” “Thirty,” I said. Miz Poo, who reacts to the sight of Fred near the side of the bed by always jumping up next to me (he always pets her for a few minutes before he leaves in the morning), did so with a chirp. He petted her for a minute, and then set her on my back, up near my shoulder. She settled there and stayed for most of the next half hour, purring in my ear, putting her warm little paw on my cheek. At 4:30 on the dot, he came and woke me up. Sunday morning, as I was sound asleep, Fred came into the bedroom and put his cold-as-ice hand on my shoulder. “Ah!” I shrieked. “GODDAMN THAT’S COLD!” To his credit, he apologized. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “I just wanted to know if my running the bathtub will bother you.” “No,” I said, and turned over with a sigh. The fact that it was 6:45 meant that I had at least an hour left to sleep before I needed to haul my lazy ass out of the bed and go exercise. I had just drifted back off to sleep when I heard loud, goony guffaws echoing from the bathroom. “Ha ha ha!” Fred said loudly. “Ha! And ha! And ha ha ha!” I thought briefly about getting up to beat him senseless, but it was so coooold out in the room, and so waaarm under the covers. I let him live. He finished up his bath a little before 8, and I woke to the sounds of him admiring himself in the bathroom mirror. “Oh my!” he said in a lispy falsetto. “Who’s a pretty boy? Who’s a pretty boy! So fancy! Yes, so fancy!” (Which is when I realized he was talking to Fancypants) Later that afternoon, while I was eating lunch, he and the spud started watching The Green Mile. A tad sleepy – and I’ll point out here that I NEVER take afternoon naps during the week, so I have no idea why I take so many on the weekend. Perhaps to escape? – I went upstairs, read for a little while, and then settled in to nap. I’d been asleep for perhaps ten minutes when Fred walked into the room. My brain somehow sensed that he was in the room, and told me to wake my ass up. He was looking at me, surprised. (It occurs to me that this story would be more interesting if I were to claim he was doing something nasty to himself while staring at my naked whiter-than-white ass, but he wasn’t. Because he unfortunately doesn’t live to make my entries more interesting, the selfish bastard) “Oh!” he said. “I didn’t realize you were sleeping!” And then there was some back-and-forth about how much I sleep and how I sleep all the time, and kiss my ass, you freakish needing-no-sleep bastard, and he went back downstairs. Of course I couldn’t get back to sleep, what with the freakin’ dogs across the street barking their fool asses off, and the booming sound of whatever was going on in the movie directly below me. “Oh!” I snarled aloud, finally getting out of the bed and getting dressed. “OF COURSE WE HAVE TO HAVE THE FUCKING MOVIE TURNED UP SO THAT YOU CAN HEAR IT IN EVERY ROOM OF THE HOUSE! OF COURSE! WHY NOT?!” And I stomped downstairs and gave him hate-filled glares. And then he woke me again this morning at 6:35. But this time was okay, because I needed to get up so we could go to the pet store and poop-scoop/ feed the cats. But one of these days he’s going to wake me up, and I’m going to pull his arm off and beat him about the head with it.
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And speaking of the pet store, we got there this morning and were amazed to find that there were only two cages of cats – and three cats total – and all the other cages were empty. Joy was in one cage, and Sugar Baby and Onion were in the other. It appears that yesterday was a really good day for the kitty adoptions! I was surprised to see Joy back again, though – I was pretty sure she’d been adopted out. But, no kitty pictures for today, except for a really good one of Miz Poo that Fred took over the weekend: